


Playing Along

by ecphory



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Allegory to canon, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Coming Out, Excessive Swearing, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Self-Discovery, Skateboarding AU, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecphory/pseuds/ecphory
Summary: Waylon lives in a small town in remote Colorado where all the kids have to do for fun in skate. Although it doesn't really suit his personality, he's learned after eighteen years of nothing better to do. Everyone knows their place until the new guy comes to town...





	1. Slide

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story three years ago to express a summer vibe that I didn't have enough of in my life: sunny afternoons in a small town with friends. I picked it up again this month but I am a much more impatient writer than I used to be so the plot progresses fast and furiously. I just want to see some new things in the fandom that aren't Eddie/Waylon. This story doesn't follow anything canon, but there is an understory with the same idea as Outlast so I hope it works for ya!

The pavement was hot from the sun beating on it all day. It warmed backs as teenagers lay sprawled on the hot cement, the sky dark red from the fading sun and distant rumbles of thunder up the mountain. Crickets chirped and wheels skidded through the halfpipe a little ways away. Waylon knew that his crew had already gone home, but he didn't have the motive to get up. His nose bled slowly and he could feel his hip starting to bruise already. He thought this year would be a good year - he wouldn't have to deal with any of the freaks from his school or any of the fucking squares that had cut him off all year. He thought he'd be able to spend every day grinding the rails with his friends, but things hadn't gone that way.  
  
It was getting colder and he finally pried himself off the ground, wiping his nose again and staining his sleeve even farther. The dried blood looked black against his blue hoodie. But it wasn't like he hadn't been through worse - the last time Walker had gotten his hands on him, he'd spent three days in a hospital. No, Waylon had just ended up on Jeremy's bad side (again) but he knew he'd be okay.  
  
He picked up his board and could feel the electricity in the air - a storm was coming, both physically and metaphorically. Over the past few weeks, things hadn't been good, and it would only take a spark to set them off.  
  
Waylon didn't want to be that spark.  
  
He skated home in the dark, and the rain had started before he was in. He'd beaten his dad home, which meant he likely wouldn't have to see the sorry excuse for a man until the next night. Over the past few months, it had been overtime for his father nearly every night, but Waylon didn't care. As long as there was food in the fridge, he was happy. He retired to his room with a plate of Mac n' Cheese and something to dress his wounds.  
  
Peeling off his shirt, a huge purple bruise had started to bloom over his hip bone. This one had been self-inflicted: a nasty wipeout today had put him in bad mood. And right in front of Lisa, too. An insult to injury, as if messing up a heelflip wasn't back enough.  
  
His nose was a little worse for wear. It probably wasn't broken, but it sure bled a hell of a lot. He couldn't even remember what he'd said that pissed off Jeremy. Probably something about Dennis or some smart remark that he should've kept to himself. Or maybe Jeremy was just having as bad a day as he was.  
  
Whatever the reason, tomorrow was almost definitely going to be better.  
  
As long as the goddamn rain let up…

* * *

By the next morning, the thunder had rolled back over the mountain and although clouds still covered the sky, the humid promise of a summer day was in the air.  
  
Waylon lived in a small town in remote Colorado where all that the kids have to do for fun is skate. He had his crew - Lisa, the cutest hipster Leadville's ever seen, Dennis, who had a bit of a speech impediment, and Jeremy, who pushed the shit out of Waylon each and every day. They certainly weren’t the best-matched crew, but there was not much choice of friends in Leadville.  
  
Waylon headed out quickly, before his dad could get up, skating down the broken road. He knew Lisa would be waiting for him, Dennis would be there too. He hoped Jeremy wouldn’t be there yet. The wind ruffled his pale hair, brushing it back out of his face. Mornings like these, he felt free.  
  
Sure enough, when he got to the skate park, the better part of his crew was there. Lisa had a dark loose romper on, hanging off her thin arms and thin shoulders. Her knees were bare and bruised as ever — this was their sign. Dennis was wearing a baggy white shirt and khakis, ball hat covering his pale face.  
  
“Sup,” Waylon pushed unruly locks out of his face. “You ready?”  
  
Lisa jumped up, brown curls bouncing. “Sure am. I really think I’ve been making progress!”  
  
Waylon couldn’t help but smile faintly at her. She must’ve been his best friend for the better part of his life; she was the one thing that made living in this shithole town worthwhile. He hopped and Lisa rolled her penny board between them. Holding onto him for support, she gingerly stepped on, taking a moment to find her balance.  
  
“What in creation are y’all d-d-doing?” Dennis craned his neck from where he lounged on the ground, his thick southern accent still distinct.  
  
“I’m going to learn to skate this summer,” Lisa smiled as Waylon still held her in place above the board. Stiffly, she extended one leg down and pushed herself just slightly forward.  
  
Dennis leapt up. “I c-could help!” Waylon knew their buzz cut friend had the hots for Lisa, but she wasn’t feeling him.  
  
“I’ve got it,” Waylon assured him. “You just keep on relaxing until Jeremy—“  
  
And as if he’d cursed it, the sound of wheels on pavement rolled up behind him and he got a punch in the shoulder. “Mr. Waylon Park,” Jer’s voice was as hoarse as ever. “You’re looking better than yesterday.”  
  
Waylon self consciously rubbed his nose. “Yeah, no thanks to you.”  
  
Jeremy laughed quietly, darkly. “Are we looking for conflict again today, Mr. Park?”  
  
Waylon frowned as his least favourite friend skated away and spat on the ground. He looked tiredly at Dennis, “why do we hang out with that fucker?”  
  
“‘Cause everyone else in t-t-town won't even let him close to ‘em,” Dennis nearly shook when he talked, his stutter was so thick. “I just wish he’d fuck off m-more often…”  
  
Lisa teetered and Waylon put his arms around her. At least they had a goal this summer. After a few hours of building Lisa’s confidence, she lay back in the sun and watch her three friends do tricks in the halfpipe. The sun was high in the sky and the park was much more full now, but each crew knew how to stick to themselves.  
  
Waylon dropped into the bowl, gaining speed up the other side, catching some air with a tail grab, and the spinning back into the bottom of the bowl just before colliding with another body. The bodies crashed together heavily, Waylon’s shoulder smashing into someone else’s. He flipped around in midair, his back colliding with the cement below him, knocking the air entirely out of him. Stars flashed in Waylon’s vision, his head spun. He muttered, “fuck,” squeezing his sides.  
  
An unfamiliar voice broke out from beside him: “Learn to skate, fag.”  
  
Waylon propped himself up, head still spinning, struggling to catch his breath. Beside him, an unfamiliar man was propping himself up, dusting off skinned elbows and scowling in his direction. _No one_ was unfamiliar in Leadville. Waylon had definitely not seen this boy before – long brown face, short but messy dark hair, hazel eyes, one ear piercing glinting in the sun. He was gorgeous. Waylon’s face heated with indignation, but words escaped him.  
  
The other was already up and grabbed his board, climbing out of the bowl and strutting over to the other side, Trager’s side. Waylon hauled his aching body off the ground to find his elbows dark and bloody as well, scowling. He reached for his board to find it snapped – that bastard had snapped his board in half! “Hey–” Waylon looked up indignantly, the sun bright in his eyes. “You fucking broke my board! What the fuck?” Trager and Chris were leaning into the bowl now too, guffawing and pointing at him. Waylon’s blood dripped onto the pale concrete. He raised his hands in disappointment, “it’s just not fucking decent!”  
  
“He ain’t exactly decent, buddy,” Trager laughed, and the newcomer was smirking down at him.  
  
Waylon boiled with anger, but Dennis had hopped down into the bowl and was guiding him up the side, picking up the two pieces of his skateboard. “They’re not w-worth your t-time,” Dennis said quietly to them.  
  
Lisa immediately held onto Waylon as he surfaced on the other side, gingerly touching his heavily bleeding wound. “Dammit, Way, are you okay?”  
  
Waylon looked defeatedly at his broken board at his feet. He loved that piece of shit – he’d had it for years, since he was a kid. “I can’t afford a new one,” he said quietly. “My old man ain’t got the money, and lord knows I don’t.”  
  
Jeremy gripped him hard by the back of his neck, ignoring his statement and hissing, “how did you not see him coming? He was right in front of you!”  
  
“I don’t know,” Waylon spat back, “he got right in my fucking way! Who is that guy anyway?”  
  
The four looked over to Trager’s group – Trager, Chris, Billy, and this new kid, all piling into his busted up old Camaro. Trager was the only one at their school to have a car, and he only had it because his parents were rich. Jeremy used to be on that path before his dad’s company went out of business – in fact, he had been a close friend of Trager’s, but he was too jealous to remain his friend after his life had gone downhill.  
  
“I never s-s-seen ‘im before,” Dennis insisted.  
  
“Me either, but he looks like bad news,” Jeremy said darkly.  
  
All Waylon could feel was the rage, looking down at his smashed board. “That fucker is going to pay…”  
  
Now, his friends were starting to catch on. Lisa gripped his arm: “It’ll be alright, Way, you can get another one. It’s summer, you can get a job and save up…”  
  
“You could w-work with me!” Dennis insisted, “They always hiring there. The boss is an a-asshole but the money is n-nice.”  
  
Waylon grit his teeth. The last thing he wanted this summer was to waste it inside some crummy diner, but it seemed now, he had no choice. He shot one last glare at the chevy pulling off.  
  
Insult to injury was that this new stranger was painfully hot. Of course, this reminded Waylon of a part of him he wished would bite the dust.

* * *

  
Gluskin’s Diner was a shabby little trailer not too far from Waylon’s house. He was ten thousand shades of humiliated, _walking_ over, shitty resume in hand, his nicest polo shirt on. He grit his teeth and promised himself it was just for his board, he’d get a new board and be back to his normal self.  
  
The boss in question was a man with the most hideous black hair Waylon had ever seen. His bright eyes pierced Waylon as he looked over the resume (no relevant experience, barely a high school diploma) before exuberantly promising he’d find him a place here. It would be scrubbing dishes, but Waylon didn’t give a shit. At least this way, he could retract into his own head and the time would blend by.  
  
That afternoon, at the skate park, he let Dennis know he’d been hired. His friend was thrilled, so some good came from it. Waylon tried to distract himself from the glaring emptiness by helping Lisa with her skating again – she was getting a little better and pushing herself along a flat surface, but still fell enough times into him.  
  
The two of them sat with their legs dangling into the bowl, Lisa rubbing Waylon’s bandaged elbow from yesterday’s wound. Dennis and Jer were doing their fair share of tricks to impress Lisa, but she had eyes only for one person.  
  
“Are you excited to start your new job?” she asked Waylon, smiling that pretty little smile of hers.  
  
“Not really,” he answered honestly, “but how bad can it be?”  
  
She looked down. “That’s true.” Lightly, her hand slid down from his elbow to his palm and her fingers crept between his.  
  
Internally, Waylon contracted, although on the outside he remained unchanged. He wanted to like Lisa. For years, he’d wanted to. She was perfect – beautiful, smart, athletic, kind – but no matter how many ways he pitched it to himself, he couldn’t fool his heart into loving her. Picturing his kiss upon her lips made him queasy, and not because he was nervous. He didn’t snoop up her skirt like the rest of his friends. He never jacked off to porn. He knew that if he wanted Lisa, he could have her, but the interest wasn’t there. It made him sick to his stomach that this wouldn’t be the case if his object of affection was male.  
  
Waylon hated the thought that he was gay. He told himself he liked to look at guys because he sized them up as friends. He didn’t want to be the one in a million in his town – it would doom him to a life of solitude.  
  
So he played the part he was meant to play.  
  
He squeezed Lisa’s hand back, gazing as their friends ground the rails.  
  
After a little while, when Trager’s car pulled up and that same stranger got out, Waylon knew it was time to leave. He and Lisa walked home and he tried not to notice what the new boy was wearing (ripped skinny jeans, alternative band tee). He talked hard with Lisa about their past year at school.  
  
That night, sitting in his room eating Ramen, the home phone rang. He grabbed the receiver on his bedside table and sat back on his pillows. “Hello?”  
  
“Park? It’s Jeremy Blaire,” his friend distinctly said. Waylon put his head in his hand; why did this asshole have to introduce himself with his full name?  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Waylon massaged his temples. “Why are you calling me?”  
  
“I talked to Rick about the new guy,” he fielded. Waylon rolled his eyes. Weren’t they sworn enemies?  
  
There was a useless pause. “… and what did he say?” Waylon prompted.  
  
“His parents just moved here, and he’s a friend of Billy’s cousin, that’s how he got in with them. His name is Miles.”  
  
 _Miles._ Waylon wordlessly tried it on his tongue. _Miles, you don’t know me, but if you come at me again, I’ll fuck you up._ “He any good of a skater?”  
  
“I don’t want to scare you, but yes,” Jeremy (for once) was honest. “I mean, he’s, like, as experienced as us. And he’s got some tricks I’ve never seen. Trager didn’t know where he’s from.”  
  
Waylon was quickly earning himself a nemesis. “Damn,” he dragged his his face down his hand. “I need a board. I need to skate.”  
  
“Homie, you can use mine tomorrow,” Jeremy sighed. “Christ, I’d have given it to you today if you’d asked.”  
  
But Waylon never asked.


	2. Grind

The next day, he trained at work. Dennis was there, but he was busy doing his own thing for the most part. Waylon was soaked and greasy by the time he earned his break and sat in the back room eating a club sandwich and fries. Dennis popped back to see him, untying his apron. “What do you think of this?” he asked, his voice deeper and steadier than usual.  
  
Waylon shrugged. “Beats nothin’.” He thought about asking Dennis where his stutter had gone, but his friend had ducked into the bathroom to change.  
  
In the meantime, Gluskin himself had popped in. “Waylon, darling, how are you settling in?” he asked.  
  
Waylon forced a shrug. “Just fine. Thank you again for the job.”  
  
“It is _quite_ not a problem,” he said queerly. “If there’s anything I can do for you, you just let me know, alright?”  
  
Waylon bit back a _give me $200 and send me on my way_ and just nodded his head. He felt sick.  
  
At 6, he finally got off. Jeremy, Dennis, and Lisa were skating in the halfpipe when he roamed up. Jeremy hopped off his board and kicked it wordlessly in his direction, grabbing Lisa’s arm and pulling her to sit with him on a bench. Waylon didn’t care; all he wanted was to skate.  
  
Grinding the rails, he felt a little more like himself again. He tried to not even see if the new guy, if Miles, was here today. But after a few ollies and heelflips, he couldn’t ignore the wheels screeching from the other side of the park. He paused for a second, holding Jeremy’s board in front of him and gazing over at the other crew.  
  
He only cared about Miles because he was good-looking. Waylon had had his pick of guys to admire, but there wasn’t much eye candy in Leadville. (Not that he’d let himself look, anyway.) Billy, much like Dennis, was very plain, with broad shoulders and short hair and pale eyes. Trager was too bony and his ponytail was a complete turnoff. Chris was meaty, and not in a good way. Miles was slender but built, and his face was the perfect amount of sharpness, his eyes bright, his mouth wide and toothy.  
  
But Waylon _hated_ him. Watching him effortlessly slide down the rail and land switch, flipping into a wall ride nearly as good as Billy’s, of course Waylon felt threatened. All he wanted to do was take that fucking board out from under his long feet and snap it in half over his knee.  
  
Not that he could ever do that.  
  
He just wanted to skate in peace, but of course, Trager skated over, round McCartney sunglasses blacking out his eyes. “Sup Park, want a skate off?” he asked. “Miles wants to try you on for size.” Chris was laughing hard behind him.  
  
“If I win, is he finna buy me a new board?” Waylon teased. Jer was hooting from the side now. Lisa cheered him on.  
  
“I think what we have here is a little rivalry,” Trager announced as Miles stepped too close to Waylon.  
  
“I’ll take this narc any day,” Miles blew a strand of hair out of his face in a way that made Waylon painfully hot.  
  
“Then let’s skate,” Waylon gritted his teeth.  
  
And the two were off. Honestly, they skated like equals. Miles was making sounds like he was having the time of his life, but Waylon was just angry. Jeremy’s board was too stiff beneath his feet, and the bottom scraped the edge of the bowl upon entry. Both gangs were cheering – when they finally collapsed off their boards on opposite sides of the bowl, panting for breath, neither of them was a clear winner.  
  
Dennis helped Waylon up, cheering him on with a lopsided smile. Jeremy just took back his board, and Lisa was beaming. “Damn,” Waylon said tiredly, feeling satisfied. Sometimes, you just had to go all out.  
  
This went on for a few weeks. He was working a few shifts at that shitty little diner – he was surprised to find out that Dennis was quitting now. After that, he’d go chill at the skate park and work with Lisa on her skating or borrow Jeremy or Dennis’s board to face off Miles again. The constant competition helped Waylon guide his thoughts away from Miles’ body.  
  
Friday night, Jeremy was out with his dad, Dennis was home with his, and Waylon was avoiding his. He and Lisa sat downtown on the curb, buzzy neon signs casting halos around them. Lisa wiggled her feet back and forth on her board, her knees ever so slight and scarred from constant bruises.  
  
“I can’t believe how fast the summer is going,” Waylon confessed to who was probably his best friend.  
  
“It hasn’t been bad, though,” Lisa leaned her head onto his shoulder, extending her hands out in front of them. “Fun so far.”  
  
“Hmm…” Waylon said softly. He looked at Lisa’s hands eclipsing the sun in front of them, casting long shadows onto their face. “You’re right. And better once I get my board back.”  
  
She lowered her hands and turned her head to look at him. “I know one thing that will make my summer more… _exciting.”_ She looked down demurely before placing her hand in his lap, entwining their fingers. They met each other’s eyes. “I want a relationship, Way. This is the last chance we’ve got before I leave for Massachusettes in the new year. I… I’ve liked you for a long time, and I think…” She unzipped her hoodie a little more to reveal cleavage, which failed to entice Waylon.  
  
“Lisa,” he said softly, not knowing what to say. “I’ve always liked you…”  
  
And all of a sudden, she was kissing him on the mouth. He just sat there, blushing, eyes red as his beautiful best friend kissed his lips. When she pulled back, he gave a small but sheepish smile. “I… I don’t think we can date though…”  
  
Worry flashed into Lisa’s eyes, embarrassment coloring her freckled cheeks. “Oh… I’m sorry… I didn’t know –”  
  
“It, um, it’s not your fault –” Waylon rushed to fix what he had done. “The issue is that I – I don’t, um, like… girls.”  
  
This was, effectively, the first time Waylon had come out to anyone. Maybe the first time he’d admitted it to himself. Lisa was clearly confused, trying to put the pieces together. He didn’t _say_ he was gay, but it was inferred. Even though it was the 21st century, their small town was pretty conservative. Still, if anyone would accept him, it would be Lisa. She squeezed his hand, which was still in hers. “I’m sorry, Waylon, I shouldn’t have done that… I understand,” she gave a small laugh and checked, “really?”  
  
He nodded wordlessly, already feeling that he’d said too much.  
  
Lisa withdrew and laughed a tired laugh, setting her hands behind her and leaning back as the sun dipped below the horizon. “Shit, Way, you should’ve told me years ago! I…” she laughed louder and looked at the board beneath her feet. “I know how to skate… I’ve just been flirting with you.”  
  
“What?” Waylon reddened at the fact he hadn’t noticed. If he thought about it, his hands had spent a lot more time on Lisa’s body than anyone else’s. He could see how she would want his body for their last summer together. “God… I’m the one who’s sorry.” There was a little silence, and he looked down in shame. “Please don’t tell the other guys. … No one else knows yet.”  
  
Lisa mimicked closing her lips and gave him an understanding smile.  
  
The walk home that night was uncomfortably awkward. Waylon was starting to think he should’ve just played along.  
  
When he got home, his dad was sitting at the table, bifocals low on his nose. “Hi, Waylon,” he greeted tiredly, not looking up. “Where were you all day?”  
  
Waylon shrugged and hung around the edge of the room, his back pressing against the wall. “Around.”  
  
He barely seemed to register that response. “I made vegetable soup if you want any. There’s leftovers in the fridge.”  
  
Waylon had already gotten dinner with Lisa. He’d do anything in his power to avoid an awkward dinner with his father. Without an answer, he started towards his room, but his father’s voice followed behind him.  
  
“Did you get a job?”  
  
Waylon stopped. “Yeah. So what?”  
  
“Nothing,” his dad lowered the screen of his ancient laptop, “it’s super. I wish you’d done this years ago. Why?”  
  
Waylon shrugged. Why did his dad need a reason for everything?  
  
“It’s just that we have to start thinking about what you’re going to do next year,” his dad went on, more focused on him. “Your future is important, Waylon.”  
  
Waylon knew it wasn’t. He knew it was too late for him to do anything useful with the next year of his life. All the colleges had already accepted their students months ago, and he wasn’t qualified for anything he would want. He said nothing.  
  
“I wish we could… talk about things,” his dad started getting up.  
  
“Stop,” Waylon said sturdily. “Not everything has to be talked about. We both know I’m fucked, so don’t point it out, alright?” He was getting upset.  
  
“I’m not trying to be mean, son,” his father’s tone sharpened.  
  
“Then just drop it!” Waylon shot back. His father knew nothing about him; he couldn’t synthesize with Waylon if he wanted to. “This is exactly why mom left,” he huffed and slammed the door to his room.

* * *

  
The next day, Jeremy was back to being a dick. He was the kind of friend that was impossible to deal with from afar, but once you got together, he was (mostly) fine to hang out with.  
  
However, when Waylon awoke to three consecutive voicemails from him, he wished he had the strength to cut that rat off.  
  
Jeremy spent three minutes times three separate messages trying to convince Waylon to give him a hundred bucks so he could afford a used car and they could finally compete with Trager's gang. Waylon knew this would just be a useless boost to Jer’s masculinity, and so badly he wanted to tell his friend to fuck off and take a hike. The messages plaid off from the landline on speaker while Waylon brushed his teeth, shaved, and scrutinized his roots.  
  
The blond was growing out. He was due for a redye soon. Can’t have himself looking too much like his father.  
  
At the park, Waylon tried to picture exactly how he was going to tell Jeremy that this was the stupidest idea he’d ever heard (a car was about the worst investment for four friends about to split up across the country) and that he was royally fucked if he thought he’d ever see a penny of Waylon’s good money.  
  
But (of course) when the brunette skated up, Waylon had nothing to say.

“Look, it’s only a hundo, and you’d earn it back with your guys’ bus fare by the end of the summer,” Jer continued to try to entice his friends.

“W-whatever,” Dennis meekly said, looking sadly at the ground. Waylon knew he knew this was a shit idea.

Of course, Jeremy hadn’t asked Lisa. He knew better than to ask a girl for money. This was strictly a between boys situation; Lisa would reap the profits, but wouldn’t have to lose anything.

Hell, if Waylon had been strong enough to come out to Lisa, he was strong enough to tell Jeremy to take a hike.

“Look, Jer, I’m gonna level with you,” he avoided eye contact with the more dominant teen. “This is a dumb idea. You know I have no cash. Fuck, neither does Dennis. It’s not even that worth to get a car. We made it this long without one, and you’re moving to Pennsylvania in literally three months.”

Jeremy squinted his eyes and gave Waylon a confused smile. “Waylon? You’re not making any sense. As my friend, it is your duty to support me in my endeavors.” After a long pause, he added, “as I would for you.”

Waylon knew that was complete bullshit. Jeremy didn’t give a fuck about him. Now that he’d got a taste of standing up, he went on, “No, I’m not giving you any money.”

Jeremy’s smirk turned darker. His hands curled into fists. “What the fuck is the matter with you!”

“H-hey—” Dennis spoke up from the sidelines. “Ch-chill out, Jer, I’m s-s-sure he’ll change his m-mind.” The two exchanged a look, and Jeremy began to relax. Waylon’s brow was still furrowed. 

“Y’know what’s a cool idea?” Jeremy suddenly changed tracks. “We could take some cash from Trager’s crew. They’re all pretty well off, and they leave their bags totally open when they skate. It would be so easy! Waylon –”

“I’m not a petty crook,” Waylon defended himself. “But if you want to go for it, whatever. I don’t give two shits.”

This was clearly enough encouragement from Jeremy. He went to work plotting with a bored-looking Dennis about how best to distract the other boys so they could get into their stuff.

Sure, there was competition between the two crews. Members from each didn’t usually hang out with those from the others, but there wasn’t any direct animosity. Most of them had known each other since they were kids – they were all in the same classes for the better part of their life, and Waylon didn’t want to steal from them.

He was sitting on the other side of the bowl when Billy and Chris skated up less than an hour later. Lisa was cruising around freely now, and looking at her made Waylon feel bittersweet. Everything he had known was dissolving before his eyes.

“Sup,” he waved to the other two as they dubiously approached him. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Billy shrugged. “You don’t really seem like that kinda guy. What’s up?”

Waylon sighed. Was he really about to snitch out his team? “Blaire’s being a fucking dick,” he sighed, eyeing the bastard wearing a button-down shirt and tie to fucking skate. “I think he’s gonna try to fuck you guys over today. Watch your bags.”

Billy nodded. “Huh. You’re alright, Park.”

Waylon sighed. “I’m just not a bad person.”

“It’s fuckin’ hard to stand up to ‘im, too,” Walker grunted. Billy gave him a look of agreement as well.

When Waylon gave the two a questioning glance, Billy expanded, “Before you started hanging out with him, Dennis used to give him the what for. Y’know, tell him when his ideas were shit. He can’t take criticism, I think he’s a narcissist or something. He beat up Dennis a lot, knocked him into the bowl at some point an’ Dennis hit his head bad. Got a concussion. That’s how he started stutterin’.”

Now, this was a story he hadn’t heard before. “Wait, what?” Waylon straightened up, squinting his eyes. “You serious?”

“Yeah, man,” Chris confirmed. “Blaire’s fucked.”

“So watch out,” Billy continued. “Go ahead and snake on him. Just watch getting in fights with him.”

Waylon had been in his fair share of fistfights with Jeremy before, but he thought the other guy knew his limits. To think that he’d fucked Dennis up that much with no consequences was sickening. Waylon shook his head. “Thanks, guys. This is so fucked up. I can’t wait to get out of this place.”

The rest of the day, Waylon was shook. He kept his distance from Jeremy, and of course, when he skulked over to the other gang’s side of the park, their bags were nowhere to be found. Miles wasn’t around today.

But he was back the next morning. Jeremy had forgotten about his new car (at least for the time being) when Trager proposed an event.

“Let’s have a skate-off today,” the douche suggested. “Gang against gang. Loser drinks from the dart pond.”  

The dart pond was a sick little marsh less than a block from the skate park, closer to the school where the teens would go out and smoke on their lunch breaks. There was probably more tar in the pond than water. Drinking from it would likely cause death.

Obviously, this captivated the teens.

The rules were simple: both teams skate away. Doing easy tricks meant you were a pussy. Continue doing harder and harder tricks until someone falls off their board. First off the board loses.

Of course, Waylon had nothing to compete on, so he was forced to sit out and judge. He was nervous to see Lisa getting on her penny board as well, but as soon as the competition started, his fears vanished. She was so much better than he could’ve imagined. And she was out here wasting her time asking him to teach her – what a joke.

Things went well. Everyone was on the ball today – kickflips, rail slides, grinds, turns, heelies. Everyone skated pretty well. Still, Waylon’s eyes tended towards Miles. The brunette dropped into the bowl, going too fast and at too steep an angle. He flew out of the other side, spinning, 180, 360, 400, but his balance was off when he landed, and by the time he was back at the bottom of the bowl, he was sprawling onto his ass, his board spilling out from under him.

Almost immediately, Jeremy hopped off his board. “Suck it, Trager!” he beamed. “You all lost your own competition. Pathetic.”

“Whatever, buddy,” Trager frowned as Billy helped Miles to his feet. “Ya win some, ya lose some.”

“Does he really have to do it?” a wide-eyed Billy asked.

Chris looked at the rest of the other group. Dennis shrugged. “I don’t care.” Waylon and Lisa echoed him with a, “same.”

“No, he has to,” Jeremy said loudly. “It’s just proper.”

Trager (of course, the two were equal bitches) agreed, “it’s just business.”

Miles narrowed his eyes. “I’ll do it, I don’t give a fuck. It’s just a polluted pond.”

So the eight teens went over to the pond. Miles rolled up his immaculate joggers revealing the ideal amount of leg hair. He waded over to where he could reach the actual water and dunked a clear water bottle into it. The sludge that came out was actually paler than Waylon expected. Most of the cigarette buts floated around the edge of the pond.

“Y’know, moss is nature’s water filter,” Miles said in an almost joking way, smirking at the group. How non-sequitur was that?

“What’s the holdup, pal?” Jeremy hoarsely asked. What a damn sadist.

“I’m waiting for it to settle,” Miles simply exchanged. Sure enough, as he held the bottle up, the precipitates were descending to the bottom, and the water on the top was looking clearer. After a minute, Miles lifted it to his lips and sipped the top water, earning a couple gasps from the group. He smirked and tossed the rest of the water bottle deeper into the pond. “Now, all of you, fuck off.”

The squads dissembled after that, all parting in different directions. Waylon lingered back, keeping an eye on Miles. As clear as the water looked, he knew it had a hundred thousand carcinogens and living bacteria per square inch. To be very honest, he was worried about the fellow teen. He stayed and skated a little longer at the park – Waylon pretended to just be admiring the sun. After everyone else was gone, Miles picked up his board and walked back towards the pond. From a safe distance, Waylon watched him climb around the outside and fish out the water bottle he’d tossed in, removing it before putting it in the recyclables bin outside the high school.

Who the fuck was this guy?

Hanging about a block behind, Waylon tailed Miles. He told himself it was because he was worried for the brunette’s health (as if Miles were going to drop dead any second) but Miles’ enigmatic personality was probably the defining factor.

Miles went right to the edge of town and into the woods. For someone who had only been living in town for a few weeks, he sure seemed confident. Once he’d disappeared into the undergrowth, Waylon sped up, following the small deer path. After five minutes of scrub forest, he got to a clearing where a dilapidated house stood. In all his years in Leadville, he’d never heard of this place. The front door hung off its hinges. Waylon approached.

The porch creaked hard as he stepped onto it. Before he could get to the door, Miles suddenly emerged from inside the house in his line of site. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open. It took him a second to find his words. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Waylon was lost for words. What _was_ he doing here? “I’m sorry…”

“Did you fucking follow me?” Miles caught an attitude in a second. “Narc.”

“Hey!” Waylon shot back at him. “I’m not your enemy here! Give me a break! I just wanted to see if you were okay!” This made Miles pause, and Waylon had to keep going before he got shut out again. “I really think we got off on the wrong foot. I don’t want to compete with you – fuck our stupid crews.”

“You want us to be friends?” Miles said incredulously.

“Stop being so fucking aggressive!” Waylon exclaimed. “I’m trying to be nice to you!”

“Why?” Miles approached him. His ear piercing glinted.

Waylon had no idea what to say. “You…” he paused. “You have secrets.”

This made Miles stop. “Everyone has secrets.” His guard wasn’t down yet.

“The society we live in is fucking cruel,” Waylon started. “All we’re allowed to be is dumb skater boys. I can see you’re more than that, and you’re the only one in Leadville who is. If you’re happy being what everyone expects, go on pretending. If not…” he took a breath. “I’m with you.”

Miles paused, his expression considerably softer than before. Waylon honestly thought he’d gotten through to him. After a pause, Miles softly said, “can you leave me alone?”

Waylon walked back the path, but he was determined now. He never realized how much he hated being who other people wanted him to be. He just hoped Miles felt it too.


	3. Switch

The next night, Waylon grabbed a six pack of beers with his fake ID and camped out in the broken-down house. Inside, it actually wasn’t in that bad shape. The stairs to the second floor were nearly gone but there were a wood table and chairs that were still in shape and there was a couch that was definitely newer than the rest of the furniture. No plumbing or electricity, but it was summertime and they would hardly need it.

Waylon sat at the table nursing a beer until he heard the telltale rustles from outside that meant Miles was close. As the brunette entered and turned in shock towards Waylon, the blonde tossed him a can of beer. He caught it but continued to gawk. After a second, he snapped back to reality: “Narc – what the fuck are you doing here?”

Waylon rolled his eyes. “I have a name. I’m Waylon.” He extended a hand to him across the table.

Miles had a choice now: he could tell this stranger to fuck off out of his one private place in this strange new town, or he could shake his hand and maybe feel less alone for this summer.

Surprising himself, he found himself shaking Waylon’s hand. “I’m Miles.”

Waylon bit back an _I know_ . Miles sat down across from him and cracked open the beer. He gave Waylon a slow look. “We’re really doing this? We’re really about to hang out.”   
  
Waylon took a long drink from his beer. “Pretty much.”   
  
Miles shook his head and took a swig. “I’m gonna need a couple more of these.”   
  
So they drank in an awkward silence for a little while. The old house creaked. Waylon wanted Miles to be the one to start the conversation; at least then, he’d know that Miles was actually invested in this unlikely truce.   
  
Miles never said anything. Waylon wasn’t the most talkative person, but he had to start somewhere. “So… where are you from?”   
  
Miles inspected the empty beer bottle before him. “DC. My parents moved here for work.”   
  
Waylon smirked. “Most people have to leave here to get jobs.”   
  
“My mom’s an astronomer,” Miles fielded. “My dad’s an actuary, so he can work pretty much anywhere.”   
  
“And they just bring you along for the ride,” Waylon filled.   
  
“Pretty much,” Miles now retrieved another beer. “So what’s your story?”   
  
Waylon shrugged. “Lived here my whole life. Lived a life I hate. My dad’s a dumbass, my mom divorced him years ago and moved to Florida. I barely see her anymore.”   
  
“Sucks,” Miles frowned.   
  
Waylon laughed and shook his head. “I gotta ask you something weird. Why did you go back for that water bottle? Why did you recycle it?”   
  
Miles gave him a confused look. “Okay, first, you’re a complete stalker, and second, because I’m not a fucking stupid hick like everyone else in this city.”   
  
Waylon rolled his eyes. “People act the way they’re expected. We’re not all stupid hicks.”   
  
Miles gave a distant look. “Billy is. God, he’s dull.”   
  
Waylon smirked. “That’s just him. So, what’s your secret?”   
  
Miles eyed Waylon but shook his head. “Nope. Not talking about that yet.”   
  
Waylon smiled and looked down. “That’s fair. Mind if I come back here?”   
  
Miles looked away and smiled too. “Go ahead.”   
  
Waylon got up, touched Miles’ arm not too subtly, and headed back to the park. He prayed to god he wasn’t reading these cues wrong.

* * *

  
When Miles and Waylon saw each other at the skate park the next day, the mood was different. They both already felt like they were lying to their crews; even though it was just an outside friendship, their loyalties were beginning to shift.   
  
Jeremy had realized that Waylon had snitched him and verbally abused him when he saw him. Waylon tuned most of it out; he was used to it by now. On Jeremy’s command, Lisa and Dennis were not to speak to him. They both gave him sad looks, but after hearing what Jeremy was capable of, Waylon was afraid to stand up to him. That meant Waylon spent the day sitting by himself. Honestly, he didn’t know why he bothered coming to the skate park anymore, but it was just habit. Miles gave him a few friendly looks, but nothing more.   
  
At the end of the day, when he went back to the abandoned house, Miles was waiting there with a pizza.   
  
After eating in silence, Miles smirked and rubbed pizza off the side of his mouth. “I’m fucking sorry about your board. Also, sorry I didn’t say anything before.’   
  
Waylon shrugged. “Whatever, shit happens. You weren’t trying to break it.”   
  
“Still sucks,” Miles gave him a slow look.   
  
“I got a shitty job to buy a new one,” Waylon explained. “But at least I’m getting some job experience now. I ain't been paid yet, but soon, I’ll probably be able to get a new board.”   
  
“You’re a good skater,” Miles nodded.   
  
Waylon rolled his eyes. “Like I need your approval.” Now Miles was smirking and shaking his head, and Waylon remembered he didn’t have to be the tough guy anymore. “But, like… you too.”   
  
All of a sudden, Miles locked eyes with Waylon. This was the first extended eye contact they’d ever had, and Waylon finally got a good look at Miles’ eyes. They were a dark hazel, too yellow to be considered brown, but smart and green around the pupil. He was so pretty. This little pause felt like the hint that Waylon had been waiting for. The cues were all there – the pierced right ear, the unexplainable fashion sense, the perfect white teeth. If this gaze wasn’t romantic, Waylon would be fucked. Slowly, while still admiring Miles’ face, Waylon reached across the table with his free hand and touched Miles’ arm. Miles didn’t pull back.   
  
Waylon’s heart was hammering like it never had before. For a second, they just sat there, touching each other, seeing each other, considering if they were seeing the truth or were just being too hopeful. Waylon honestly had never considered that he would meet another gay person. He assumed this was something he was going to have to keep hidden. Now, finally going against how everyone wanted him to act, he was touching Miles.   
  
“Are you—” he started quickly, unsurely.   
  
“Yes,” Miles interrupted equally as quickly, equally as unsurely.   
  
And all of a sudden, Waylon bitched out. He drew his hand back and nodded. He felt sick and wrong for being this way, he shouldn’t want this, the thought of kissing a man was so backward that it made his stomach turn. “Tomorrow,” Waylon vaguely said, and Miles just nodded. Appetite gone, Waylon grabbed his shit and hurried home.   
  
But, foolishly, he’d forgotten that he was working 2-9 the next day, so their continuation would have to be postponed. Hoping to find Miles at the skate park earlier that day, he headed out early. Jeremy Blaire was nowhere to be found, so Dennis and Lisa spent more time with Waylon again. He got to skate a little on Dennis’s board, which relieved a bit of his tension, but, very unfortunately, Miles was not around.   
  
So badly, Waylon wished he could call Miles. He wished he had his number. He wished it was acceptable for him to ask Billy for his number. He was in a tricky place: he risked standing up Miles, or he risked being found out and being ditched by their respective clubs. He’d worked hard to earn Miles’ trust, but Trager’s crew had no idea of the interest he’d taken in Miles.   
  
He ended up going to work without saying a word to Miles. The whole time he washed dishes, he felt sick. He knew he was betraying Miles. He’d fucked up this friendship before he’d even started it. At the end of the day, he sulked home and took a long hot bath.   
  
The next morning, he was at the park as early as possible. He fled the house while his dad was in the shower. Thankfully, Miles was there, and no one else was.   
  
Miles gave him a disappointed look and didn’t say anything to him. He was recklessly grinding the rail, falling off his board over and over again.   
  
“Miles—” Waylon approached him without shame. “I am so fucking sorry about yesterday. I forgot I had to work a-and I had no way to get in touch with you.”   
  
Miles tried to not look as upset as he was. “Oh.” Waylon continued to bumble, trying to give excuses, but Miles cut him off as Trager began to approach. “Meet at the regular place now. I’m gonna loop around then come back.” He skated off without another word.   
  
Waylon lingered for a second, long enough to give Trager a nod of recognition before casually walking off. Waylon was at the point where the only person he wanted to hang out with was Miles; he knew if Jeremy Blaire was around, he’d have to deal with his shit.   
  
So Waylon hurried to the house. Somehow, Miles had beaten him to it and was already inside. He was taking off his shirt. Waylon heated up. “We’re doing this?” Miles stated, but it was a question. Disbelief, and to make sure it was okay.   
  
This was not what Waylon had expected. He thought they were going to talk. He thought they were getting to know each other. He thought he was the only gay person east of California. But Miles was taking his hand, and they never kissed, they never acknowledged what they were doing, but suddenly they were undressed and on that couch and rubbing their hands over every plane of the other’s body. Miles’ gaze was so strong, and neither of them said anything of substance as Miles fucked Waylon on the couch for the first time.   
  
This was the happiest Waylon had been in his life.   
  
Lying on the couch after, the reality of what they had just done kicked in. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge it; they both were still kind of uncomfortable with the fact they were gay. They weren’t trying to change the world, they just wanted to be happy.   
  
“Wow…” Waylon stared at the ceiling, no longer able to look at Miles’ toned body as he had before. “That was… wow…”   
  
“I can’t believe we just did that,” Miles said breathlessly.   
  
No one knew what would happen next. They wouldn’t call each other boyfriends; that was strictly out of bounds in Leadville. They wouldn’t openly flirt, they wouldn’t hold hands. Waylon resigned to giving Miles these soft languid looks as he pulled on his boxers and pants again, the sudden confidence gone. Miles sat up and pulled on his shorts, meeting Waylon’s gaze as he stood above him. He looked like he was going to say something, but Waylon was just heating up. The realization that he now had something akin to a relationship, something like strangers with benefits, was too much for him.   
  
“I’m gonna go back to the skate park,” he said softly. “Can we come back here later?”   
  
Miles grinned toothily and nodded. “I’ll pick you up at 6?” From out of his pocket, he dug out a crumpled piece of paper and a pen and scratched a number onto it. “It’s my home number, call whenever from now on, okay?” He tugged his shirt over his head. “See you in a few.”   
  
So Waylon walked back to the park with a sore ass. He felt so dirty – he couldn’t deny that he was gay any longer. Lisa was the only one who knew, and Miles, of course, and he was sure neither of them would out him. His dad would probably shit his pants if he ever found out. Jeremy Blaire would probably think he could beat the faggot right out of him. He was living a secret now.   
  
Miles was already at the park skating by the time he got there. He was glowing, face still slightly red and teeth gleaming. Waylon wasn’t fully aware of the little satisfied smile on his face.   
  
But Lisa noticed. She skated over to him. “Hey, Way, you look happy,” she smiled somewhat sadly.   
  
He grinned a little and crossed his arms. “Just having a good day, I guess. How are you doing?”   
  
She sighed. “Bored. Can’t complain.”   
  
Waylon lowered his voice a little, “if you’re still looking for a relationship, Dennis and Jer are both pretty smitten.”   
  
She gave him a look. “I’d rather die than have either of them.” They both laughed a little at that. “So I guess I’ll just have to wait until next year.”   
  
Waylon facepalmed. “I can’t believe you’re going to Stanford. You’re going to find someone with a lot more potential than me.”   
  
Lisa gave him a fond smile. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, Way. And… I hope you’re happy, too.”   
  
Waylon didn’t know if he was capable of being happy. He still thanked her, rode her board for a little while, and pretended everything was the same as it had always been.   
  
Skating down the ramp on the gold penny board, Miles sped up it towards him. “Watch it, narc,” he teased in a way that sounded mean but sent a stab of heat to Waylon’s crotch.   
  
Way shot back a, “fuck off, watch where you’re going,” which Jeremy echoed, although he didn’t need his backup.   
  
When the sun went down and everyone went home, Waylon showered and changed before heading out to the abandoned house again. Not long after he’d left his house, an engine revved behind him and he was caught in the headlights of a car. He turned and covered his eyes, squinting at it. A red Jeep beeped at him and pulled over on the side of the road, popping the door open. Miles was in the driver’s seat, now wearing a tank top and loose sweatpants. “Hop in,” he cheered, beaming.   
  
Waylon was stunned. No one around here could drive. Fuck, Jeremy was the only person in their gang who even had his license. But Miles had possession of this gorgeous car, top down, wind blowing through his hair.   
  
Without a second thought, Waylon climbed aboard.   
  
“How does no one know you have a car?” Waylon asked once they got going.   
  
“It’s not mine, it’s my parents’,” Miles explained. “They’re cool with letting me take it. Want to drive up the mountain?”   
  
They did.   
  
Halfway up the hill, Miles stopped at a look off and turned off the car. He climbed out and hopped onto the hood, lying back. Waylon timidly followed suit. Above them, a million stars shone in the sky.   
  
“We should talk about today,” Miles said softly. Waylon nodded. At least here, no one would know.   
  
Miles waited patiently for Waylon to start, but he never did, so the brunette was forced to find something to say. “So… I’m guessing you’re not out?”   
  
Waylon laughed in disbelief and put his head in his hands. “Fuck no. I… I’m not a faggot…”   
  
Miles gave him a knowing look. Waylon’s latent homosexuality had been repressed for so long, he’d dealt with 18 years of internalized homophobia. “I know. I know, Way, it’s hard to admit—”   
  
“You just—” Waylon was so lost for words. He couldn’t deny what he was feeling. “I don’t _feel_ different. But when I saw you for the first time, you… you lit a fire in me that I’ve never felt before. Chicks just aren’t interesting to me at all, and most of the guys around here are pathetic, but you…” he looked at Miles in the very low light. “You are special.”   
  
Miles smiled doubtfully and looked back at the stars. “I was out in Washington. Everyone was fine with it. Being in a big city is so different from here.”   
  
“It’s like we’re twenty years back in time,” Waylon shook his head. “I’ll never be able to leave.”   
  
“What are you saying, of course you will. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.” Miles sat up to look better at Waylon.   
  
“I’m not going to college,” Waylon furrowed his brow.   
  
“Whatever, neither am I,” Miles shot back. “Shit happens, applications get fucked, you try again next year. At least you’ve got a job.”   
  
Waylon rolled his eyes. “’Cause dishwashing is going to get me far.”   
  
“What do you want to do?” Miles asked, tone gentler than before. Waylon gave him a look, and he aggressively pushed, “no, I’m fucking serious, if my dick was in your ass, you can tell me your fucking aspirations.”   
  
“We can’t be boyfriends!” Waylon shot back suddenly.   
  
Miles glared at him. “Why not?”   
  
“Words like that only matter if other people know about you, and the people in our lives can never know about us!” Waylon cried.   
  
“Park, the only people who should care about our relationship is you and me,” Miles said. “If you like this, if you think this will work, if you want to go steady, I’ll spend my summer with you.”   
  
Waylon’s guard was still up. Miles was confident, Miles could do this, he’d done this all before, he was willing to sneak around and sin and give Waylon good shit that would actually make his life not so miserable. But Waylon hesitated. Miles was before him, just barely visible in the moonlight, looking so open.   
  
“Look, I’m not as dickish as I act,” Miles went on. “You want my secret? I want to be a fucking writer. How fucked is that? You’re not the only one with dreams you’ll never have.”   
  
This was the first time Waylon had met someone who was more complex than he seemed. Miles was letting himself be vulnerable. Waylon knew, if there ever was a time to confess, it was now. “I want to work with computers,” Waylon softly admitted. “But we only have dial-up internet at my house. My dad’s laptop is ten years old. I don’t know shit.”     
  
Miles laughed. “You’re alright, Park.” He slowly moved over and placed a hand on the side of Waylon’s face. When Waylon didn’t shy away, they stared at each other for a little while, then finally kissed.   
  
Finally, they were starting to show their true selves.   
  
After tender kisses and a fair amount of habituation for Waylon (he was still warming up to the idea), they moved into the back of his Jeep and had sex again. And after that, they drove to nearby the abandoned house and went and sat on the steps and talked even more. They stayed out all night, wrapped in a blanket on the dilapidated steps.   
  
“How did you find this place?” Waylon asked.   
  
“When I first moved here, I spent a lot of time exploring,” Miles told, “I saw the path at the edge of the woods, and I followed it. The couch is pretty new, I guess someone else must have brought it since the house was abandoned. I usually come here when I can’t stand to see my parents.”   
  
“Amen,” Waylon nodded. “Thanks for not kicking me out.”   
  
“It’s nice that we can have a place we can be ourselves.” The brunette looped his arm around Waylon’s shoulder. “There’s too much denial in this town.”   
  
“So…” Waylon trailed off, leaning into Miles’ embrace. “You like to write. Gay poetry?”   
  
Miles shook his head. “Gay people aren’t like stereotypes on TV, Way. They’re like you and me, they’re complex, they can like whatever they want.” He rolled his eyes. “So no, I don’t write poetry. I want to go into journalism. Like, writing for newspapers and stuff.”   
  
Waylon’s eyes widened. “Huh. You actually care?”   
  
Miles shrugged. “I mean, yeah. Like, there’s so much shit going on in the world. Even if I can’t be true about myself, I can expose everything else.” Waylon hummed and nodded. Miles continued, “I wanted to go to journalism school, but everything got messed up. I,” he sighed, “I just applied to Georgetown University, which was pretty close back in Washington. Everyone from my school did, it was so easy to get in. I fucked up and forgot to put in my grades until after the application date, and then I couldn’t go back and fix it. It was too late to apply anywhere else, too, so I moved here with my parents and now it feels like I’m just wasting time.”   
  
“I didn’t apply anywhere,” Waylon admitted, “my old man thinks I can’t do shit. I always got good grades, but he thinks the only real jobs are in business, and I’d rather die than be stuck in a cubicle doing paperwork.”   
  
“Me too,” Miles echoed. “I want to be on the road.”   
  
“You should apply some places,” Waylon encouraged. “Leave this place while you can.”   
  
Miles shrugged. “Once I get a job. I have no cash and my parents think I ought to stay out here and work on Billy’s dad’s farm. It’s like they think it’s still the sixties.”   
  
Waylon shook his head. “Fuck. If you apply somewhere, I will too, alright?”   
  
Miles extended a hand and they shook on it. The pact was set. They were finally advancing their lives.


	4. Kickflip

The next day at work, Waylon was fed up. Although he’d worked the better part of three weeks now, he had yet to be paid and was still desperate for the money. After another disgusting shift, he cornered the restaurant manager to track down his paychecks.  
  
The diner was strangely quiet for nine at night; usually most of the other staff stuck around for a while to help clean up, but not tonight. Waylon knocked on the door. “Mr. Gluskin? Can I come in?”  
  
The black-haired man was sitting at the desk with all the lights off. He looked over. “Oh? Oh, it’s just you, Waylon, darling, of course.” Dubiously, Waylon stood just inside the door. This guy gave him the creeps.  
  
“Listen, I am, uh, so grateful for this job,” Waylon reiterated what he must have told him at least a thousand times. “The experience is fantastic.”  
  
“Hmm, yes,” Gluskin got to his feet, his height towering above Waylon. “It really is necessary for boys to learn… _hard work_ and _vigor._ ”  
  
Waylon didn’t know how to respond, he just shifted from foot to foot. He didn’t like how hard Gluskin was breathing. “I was just wondering… like, when is the payday for you guys here? I haven’t dropped off my bank information, if you need that, I can bring it in, but a cheque is totally fine by me.”  
  
The boss hummed again, “well, my apologies, Waylon, I’m glad you came to say something. Come on in, have a seat and I’ll dig out the paycheck for you.”  
  
“No, Mr. Gluskin, I’m fine to stand,” Waylon carefully declined. Something was wrong.  
  
“Please, call me Eddie,” he insisted, “Mr. Gluskin was my…” he faltered and stuttered, “ _father.”_ He didn’t address the second point, so Waylon remained on his feet.  
  
Gluskin continued to ramble as he rifled through a file cabinet. “It’s really fantastic to have you around the diner, darling, it truly is. It’s always… _difficult_ to find people to do the messy jobs, but we all must make sacrifices. It was very kind of your friend Dennis to bring you down here… otherwise, the duty may have landed on him…”  
  
Was this guy insinuating that Dennis had set Waylon up? Sure, Waylon hated this job, but not that much. Honestly, Gluskin was the worst part of it. Waylon (wisely) chose not to respond.  
  
“Ah! Finally found it. Eddie, you doofus, you really must remember to keep these things in order,” the older man berated himself. “There you are, Waylon, and let me say, job _very_ well done.” As he handed the envelope to the blond, his free hand landed on Waylon’s arm and lingered there far too long.  
  
“Thank you,” Waylon started to move away, but his boss kept a tight grip on the envelope and his arm.  
  
Gluskin’s voice deepened. “You seem… _distracted,_ I must say. Things not well at home? Looking to get away from your old man? I know that feeling all too well.” He spoke even quieter and moved even closer to Waylon. “I know all too well what’s on boy’s minds. Come on, darling, share with me, it’ll make you feel better.”  
  
“I have to go,” Waylon started meekly.  
  
“It won’t take long,” Gluskin said, “Just close your eyes, and it’ll all be over.”  
  
In this moment, Waylon so badly wanted to tell this pedo to get the fuck away from him, but his voice disappeared. The tough skater boy visage he had built up for eighteen years was suddenly crumbling away. Now, he was just a mute computer fag who was about to be raped in the office of a shitty diner. He could not force himself to speak.  
  
Finally, another server walked by outside, pushing the office door open. “Gluskin, the carpet cleaners are here.”  
  
Within a second, Gluskin released Waylon. “Certainly, I’ll be out in a second.” He looked for one second at the terrified look on Waylon’s face and clucked his tongue. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. If I have overstepped my bounds, I _sincerely_ apologize. I want our relationship to be nothing but professional, darling.” He left while Waylon was still paralyzed.  
  
Waylon fled the diner. At this pace, he never wanted to go back. Once he’d sprinted three blocks away, he tore open the envelope and inspected his check. It was only for $180. In all that time, he’d worked less than 20 hours. His heart sunk. His new board was so far from reach still. He felt violated, even though he hadn’t had anything done to him. He felt so vulnerable, he needed help. Once he was home, he ran to his room and locked the door. He picked up the phone.  
  
Miles couldn’t deal with him like this. He and Miles already had enough to deal with. Instead, he called Lisa. He was getting paranoid.  
  
Thankfully, she picked up right away. “Waylon? What’s up?”  
  
Immediately, he was embarrassed about his earlier anxiety. “Hey, uh… god, I just had the weirdest thing ever happen to me at work?”  
  
“Oh, what happened?” Lisa asked. “Are you okay?”  
  
“The boss was being so weird!” Waylon exclaimed. “Like he was coming onto me, it was horrible. He was saying these terrible things that Dennis put me up for this job so it would be me instead of him…” Waylon was realizing his thoughts as he was speaking them to her, “Like, do you think Dennis would do that? Now my trust in him is all shaken.”  
  
“Oh, Waylon, that sounds terrible,” Lisa gushed. “I have no idea! Like, neither of us know Dennis that closely, but I don’t know how good a person he is. He really seems like he looks out for himself above anyone else, but I know he wouldn’t put you in harm's way!” Waylon sighed and she went on, “You’re the one who needed this job, so there’s no way it was intentional. He’s our friend.”  
  
“I’m starting to wonder how much these friendships really mean,” Waylon said softly into the receiver. “I’ll probably never speak to Jeremy or Dennis after this year. I hope you want to stay in touch with me.”  
  
She laughed very lightly. “I do. But I know what you mean. It feels like… these friendships have an expiry date.”  
  
“Can I be honest with you?” Waylon asked softly. “I fucking hate Jeremy. He’s never done anything nice for me, he’s the one keeping the groups separate. I hate these damn gang wars we’ve gotten into.”  
  
“It’s not that bad,” Lisa dismissed. “Sure, Jeremy’s a dick, but he cares about us. He’s dumb as fuck too, but that’s just who he is. He’s already forgotten about the car thing, I’m sure he’ll let you back in with us now.”  
  
They talked for a little while more until Waylon felt more like himself again, then he took a long shower and didn’t end up calling Miles. The first time they’d slept together, he thought it had been just out of accessibility; they were gay, they were together in the same place, they wanted sex. Same with their relationship; Miles was close by and interesting. But now, he was seeing more. Miles was a person and deserved significant input if they were actually going to have a relationship. Waylon had to be okay for Miles; Miles’ confidence wouldn’t be able to carry them both.  
  
So Waylon waited until he was in a better headspace. The next morning, he called Miles’ house early, for the first time, praying that Miles’ parents wouldn’t pick up.  
  
However, when a deep voice answered, he knew it wasn’t Miles. “Hello?”  
  
Waylon was immediately caught off guard. He quickly recovered, “hi, is Miles there?”  
  
“He is,” the man who must’ve been Miles father sounded dubious. “Who should I say is calling?”  
  
“Waylon,” he replied, and felt he needed an explanation, “I’m a friend of Billy’s.”  
  
He heard the receiver pull back and the voice called quieter, “Miles, your friend Waylon is calling,” which made him smile a little.  
  
However, in the meantime, his dad had heard him talking in his room and knocked on the door. “Hey, Way, buddy, who ya talking to?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter, dad,” Waylon called back, covering the receiver.  
  
“I’m heading to work, see you tonight, okay?” he confirmed.  
  
“Okay,” Waylon said somewhat aggressively, but Miles was already picking up on the other line. “Hey, Miles, what’s up?” he said a lot softer.  
  
“Morning, Way,” he said smoothly. “I’m surprised you called.”  
  
Waylon felt a little embarrassed. He wasn’t really sure why he had called anymore. “You gonna go to the skate park today?”  
  
Miles laughed. “I mean, that’s what I’ve done every day since I got here. Trager wanted me to film him doing a couple skate tricks since I’ve got a decent camcorder and all.”  
  
“Do you want to do something else later? I don’t work,” Waylon suggested.  
  
He could hear how smug Miles was. “Are you asking me on a date?”  
  
“So what if I am?” Waylon retorted with a smile.  
  
“Fine. We’ll get some food at the end of the day, okay?” Miles asked.  
  
So they did.  
  
Skating at the park, which used to sate Waylon’s need for variety, had quickly become the most tedious part of his life. Jeremy was a little nicer than usual lately, but he still had lingering doubts about Dennis. Lisa was cute, but Waylon was getting to the point where he didn’t have to force himself into admiring her so he could feel straight. He was getting past it.  
  
Also, he was getting out of practice.  
  
He rode lightly on Jeremy’s board while the other teen lectured him gently. “Y'know, Park, you’re a bright kid. You got a ton of future ahead of you. Once I get my own business off the ground, I’d be proud to have you on board.”  
  
Waylon was less than thrilled at the thought of a lifetime spent working for Jeremy Blaire. “What’s your business even going to do?” he redirected.  
  
“What _won't_ it do!” Jeremy exclaimed. “I mean, the market is changing so fast, it will probably be completely different from what I’m thinking now, but it will be big and everyone’s going to be rich!”  
  
Jer was just like his father, foolish and greedy. Waylon wanted no piece of this faulty plan, but that didn’t matter now. “Sounds incredible, Jer,” he managed, his gaze lingering over to where Miles skated beside Chris.  
  
When the end of the day finally rolled around, Miles and Waylon exchanged a look and fled the park within five minutes of each other. Most of their crews were there still, but each cooked up a reasonable response as to where they had to go. Waylon freshened up a little but was careful not to look too nice. Even the restaurants around here were iffy about the gays; he just wanted to look casual.  
  
Waylon settled on a red and white baseball tee over faded blue jeans, combing his hair with his fingers. He was happy to be out of the house before his father could get home and judge him for dressing up for a boy.  
  
The blond sat on the porch, waiting for Miles to pick him up. He really had no idea where they’d go; they each agreed that they’d decide at the end of the day. The Jeep eventually turned the corner (how Miles had gotten his address was a mystery, but one Waylon was not upset about) and Waylon got up.  
  
To his surprise, Miles wasn’t behind the wheel tonight. A tall man was driving, hair as structured as Miles but mostly grey. Miles was in the back seat, looking as gorgeous as ever wearing a nice quality button-down and slim black jeans.

“Sup Waylon,” Miles greeted him as the blond stuttered to a stop beside the car. “This is my dad, Steven. He needs the car after and I didn’t have your number so I assumed you’d be alright if he dropped us off.”  
  
Waylon was still trying to take in exactly what Steven Upshur was. He seemed so old and crisp, his face with all the same planes as Miles’ but lacking the fullness. “Nice to meet you, Waylon, hop aboard,” he offered, and Waylon stupidly climbed into the Jeep, still lost for words. “Where are you boys headed to?”  
  
Miles looked expectantly to Waylon. Waylon was surprised and offered back, “it’s up to you, I’m down for anything.”  
  
“Same,” Miles shrugged. “I assumed you’d know all the good places around here.”  
  
Now Waylon was on the spot. “I, uh… uh,” there weren’t many good places to eat around Leadville. “Do you know how to get to the 26? All the big places are off of there.”  
  
“Will do,” Miles’ dad complied. “So, Waylon, what do you do?”  
  
Waylon glanced at Miles, trying to gauge how to respond. Miles gave him a shrug and a little smile. “I work at a restaurant in town,” Waylon simply answered.  
  
“Ah,” Steven smiled. “Very nice. Miles used to work at the library back in Washington but he hasn’t been up to much since we moved here.”  
  
“Really?” Waylon mouthed to Miles and he gave him a wide-eyed smile and nodded.  
  
“Well, dad, we’ve only been here a few weeks,” Miles dismissed. “We haven’t even fully unpacked yet.”  
  
“True. It’s nice you’re still getting out of the house.” His dad turned onto the main road. “Here were are. Where should I drop you boys?”  
  
“Anywhere is fine,” Waylon was already getting unbuckled. “Miles and I will just walk until we see something that looks good.” He stopped in a parking spot and the two teens hopped out.  
  
“Thanks for the lift, dad,” Miles called back to him, combing his windswept hair back into place. As he drove off, he gave Waylon a happy look.  
  
“Ok, just let me say you look incredible,” Waylon was a little lost for words. “Like, you usually look above average so I should be expecting this, but still… wow.”  
  
“Thanks,” Miles beamed. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”  
  
“Let’s go look for somewhere you want to eat,” Waylon started walking.  
  
They stopped at a little place called Melt to get sandwiches. Although there were picnic tables outside, Waylon was fearful of Trager’s Camaro prowling the streets so they opted for a booth inside.  
  
They both got grilled cheeses and cokes. Waylon was kind of in disbelief that this was the first date he’d ever been on in his life. He didn’t feel that awkward, perhaps because he’d already slept with Miles so sitting across a table from him didn’t feel so vulnerable.  
  
“So you really are quite the bookworm,” Waylon took a slug of coke.  
  
Miles shrugged. “I knew who I was there. And, I mean, I’m still just as cool, but a little more balanced. Grades weren’t the best, but I was a good person.”  
  
“Did you skate much there?” Waylon asked.  
  
Miles shrugged. “Enough. Like, no one does it as religiously as you all do here, but I always thought it was fun.”  
  
“You sure picked it up fast once you moved here,” Waylon noted.  
  
“I had some tough competition,” Miles winked at him.  
  
“I heard your best friend is Billy’s cousin,” Waylon remarked.  
  
Miles snorted. “That’s wrong. Who the fuck told you that? Billy is _my_ cousin. My dad’s sister, Tiffany, is his mom.”  
  
This didn’t add up to Waylon; Billy and Miles looked nothing alike. Billy was so broad and plain, Miles was smoother and darker and lithe. “What… are you serious? Trager told me that!”  
  
Miles rolled his eyes. “Trager thinks he’s a hundred times more clever than he is. It’s true! We just don’t look alike because his father is a huge bland white guy and my mom is black.”  
  
This intrigued Waylon further. “Wait – you’re mixed?”  
  
Miles laughed. “You couldn’t tell?” Waylon was starting to see it. He’d assumed Miles’s skin tone had just come from a deep tan, but his hair was curled tight and his lashes and eyebrows were dark. His features were so white — the spitting image of his father. There were not many bi-racial couples in Leadville; Miles was not made for this place.  
  
Miles looked down. “I mean, you honestly can’t tell me everyone around here is white. Where’s Lisa from?”  
  
“Her parents are Puerto Rican, but she was born here,” Waylon replied, still trying to figure out if Miles was being serious about his heritage.  
  
“And who else? Where is everyone else from?” Miles prompted.  
  
Waylon shrugged. “Everyone else is pretty white.”  
  
“You don’t look white,” Miles leaned in a little more and propped his head in his hands. “Where are you from?”  
  
“My mom is half Korean,” Waylon admitted. “But my dad is all white. I didn’t think it really showed in me.”  
  
“I can kind of tell from your eyes,” Miles’ gaze was locked on him, inspecting every feature. “Why do you dye your hair?”  
  
Waylon shrugged and curled a long blond lock on his finger. “I dunno. It looks nice this way, and at least I look less like my father.”  
  
“You have some serious daddy issues,” Miles notes, spinning his straw around his coke bottle. The server came over with the sandwiches and they were left to eat on that note.  
  
They definitely looked like they were on a date. Miles was too dressed up, and Waylon kept giving him these lingering looks. They touched legs under the table. Waylon upsettingly got hard. (Although he wasn’t that upset.)  
  
After their date, they had sex again at the abandoned house. Waylon had yet to develop any feelings for Miles, other than a bit of a crush, curiosity, and the reduced internal homophobia towards them. Still, he knew Miles was on his side, even if he wasn’t quite a friend.  
  
Every time they made love, Miles topped. He came prepared with lube and condoms, things Waylon hadn’t considered ever in his life. Waylon didn’t mind, the sensation was still so nice for him. Miles was always willing to jack him off, which Waylon was grateful for.  
  
That night, Miles gave Waylon head for the first time. Waylon adored it.


	5. Shuvit

For the next week, they continued like this. Spending the majority of the day at the skate park, both ditching it to spend some time getting to be themselves, then getting intimate at the abandoned house. Waylon played hooky from work for most of the week; he carefully waited for his next shift without Gluskin present. The assistant manager would definitely be hearing his concerns.  
  
Sunday night rolled around, Sunday of the weekend after the Fourth of July. Trager was away on vacation, Lisa went to her grandmother’s place, Jeremy said he was going somewhere important but they all knew it was probably just a road trip to Boulder. That meant the crews were kind of fucked and different, so all of them headed out for a day at the park together.   
  
Dennis, Billy, Chris, Waylon, and Miles all skated past the skate park today (Lisa had left her board for Waylon to use while she was away) instead to lounge at a picnic park. Chris had brought a football for the boys to toss around. It was nice that the group dynamic wasn’t as separate as it usually was. Dennis’s stutter was a little less prevalent without Jeremy there, and Waylon was feeling more like his old self. The boys lounged on picnic tables, soaking up the sun and enjoying the nice weather. Miles and Waylon were cordial and no one was suspicious.  
  
At the end of the night, everyone else went home to have dinner with their families and Miles and Waylon headed back to the skate park to skate a little more. Waylon has been going through withdrawal without the board beneath his feet, and although it was harder to do tricks on a penny board, he was still enjoying himself.  
  
The park was deserted except for the two of them as the sun set, the sky clear and blue to red. The bright floodlights had long been broken, so the park was doused in darkness. When it got too dark to skate, the two lay in the bowl side by side, the cement still warm from the day.  
  
“Want to hold hands?” Waylon turned his head to look at Miles. “It’s pretty dark.”  
  
Miles’ teeth gleamed in the dark. “I’d love to.”  
  
So the two held hands. They just sat there quietly, slowly moving closer and closer together as their confidence increased and the weather got colder. Eventually, they were in each other’s arms, tenderly kissing each other.  
  
Waylon thought he heard a shutter sound, but played it off to paranoia.  
  
However, when he woke up the next morning, Jeremy had left him a voicemail telling him to check his email. Still in his pajamas, he crept out of his room and opened his dad’s laptop, signing into his Gmail and checking the email from Jer. His heart dropped when he saw the subject was “ _Fags in the neighborhood.”_  
  
Horrifyingly, attached was a blurry, low-resolution photo of him and Miles from the previous night. It had been clearly enhanced already, enough that you could see the two faces kissing and Miles’ hand gripping Waylon’s ass. It was taken from over Waylon’s side, so his face was impossible to make out, but Miles’ was fairly clear. It wouldn’t take much deduction to figure out it was him. Jer has written a sickening little message at the bottom as well:  
  
 _Martin took these last night, that fucker is finally useful for something. Let's meet at the park and figure who they are._  
  
Waylon’s immediate reaction was to call Miles, apologize, warn him, get their stories straight. Before he could get to the phone, it was already ringing. He lifted it up. “Hello?”  
  
“Waylon?” It was Lisa. “I’m freaking out, did you see the email Jeremy sent last night?” Waylon clicked open the CC and saw that almost everyone in town had received Jeremy’s email.  
  
“Yeah, I just did,” Waylon gulped.  
  
“Way, i-is the blond guy you?” she asked shakily. “I promise I won’t tell anyone…”  
  
“No,” Waylon declined without any kind of thought. “I swear to god it’s not me.” But it was. What was he doing?  
  
“Okay,” Lisa breathed. “When Jeremy figures out who it is, he’s gonna make their life _hell._ I’m so happy it’s not you, I’m so worried…”  
  
“Is everyone else getting back today?” Waylon asked.  
  
“Mmhmm,” Lisa confirmed. “I’ll be back at, like, 4. I hope things don’t go to shit by then.”  
  
“I’ll call you when I get the chance. Thanks for checking in,” Waylon’s heart was hammering.  
  
He tried calling Miles but got no answer at home. He dressed in a hurry, threw a hat on over his messy hair and sprinted to the skate park.  
  
A huge crowd was already there — how had everyone gotten back from the long weekend so fast? — guys from the regular crew and guys just from school as well. Jeremy was standing on the little raised section with a black and white printout in his hand. Waylon found Miles’ eyes in the crowd; he looked scared, unsure. Waylon was afraid to approach him.  
  
“Okay, everyone listen up,” Jeremy spoke hoarsely. “Everyone get in a big circle and we’ll break it down.”  
  
Surprisingly, the crowd got in order. Dennis, Jer, Rick, Chris and Billy and Miles were there as well as Martin himself (the little freak was hiding out taking pictures of people now) and some other guys from school, Frank, Graham, Cooper, a set of twins Waylon didn’t know so well.  
  
In the black and white photocopy, the overexposed shot of Waylon made his hair look far darker than it was; on the screen, it had looked almost orange instead of the platinum blond it was. “Exhibit A,” Jeremy tapped a pen on the head that was Waylon’s. “This guy is such a mystery. Who is it?”  
  
Waylon carefully locked eyes with Miles and softly said, “I have no idea.” Miles looked hurt, and Waylon already had the feeling he’d done the wrong thing.  
  
“It kinda looks like Stevenson,” Billy suggested.  
  
“You’re right but I thought he was away with the military all summer,” someone else pointed out.  
  
“Maybe he hasn’t left yet,” another voice piped up.  
  
“And we have exhibit B,” Jeremy gestured to the other face. Waylon swallowed thickly.  
  
“He kinda looks like you, Jer,” Rick teased him. “Is this just some elaborate coverup of your low key homosexuality?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Jeremy snarled. “Serious answers only, please.”  
  
“Hmm…” Dennis pulled the picture closer to him. Waylon prayed to god he was being stupid today. “I-it looks k-k-kinda like… _Miles…”_  
  
A lot of the boys from school hadn’t gotten to know Miles; not many of them spent much time at the skatepark. All eyes turned towards him and Waylon felt so guilty for the deep color of shame that painted Miles’ face. He’d never seen the other teen get flustered.  
  
“God, he’s right,” Jeremy stepped back. “The face is exactly the same. Trager hangs out with fucking faggots!”  
  
Immediately, a sense of betrayal spread between the group, the strangers on either side of him spreading out as if homosexuality was something they could catch from him. Miles’ brow was thickly furrowed. Trager was shaking his head, giving Billy a disappointed look and saying, “should’ve expected as much from a Northerner.”  
  
“Hey,” Miles finally found his voice. “First, you have very little evidence that that is actually me, besides that it kind of looks like me. Second, even if I was not straight, it shouldn’t make a difference. We’re all people, we’re all friends, who we choose to date should not affect that.”  
  
“But that ain’t r-right,” Dennis stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Things like that ain’t n-natural.”  
  
“It’s fucking disgusting, that’s what it is,” Jeremy scowled. “It wasn’t like you can’t choose not to fuck guys. It’s sick.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up,” Miles was getting heated now. “Literally, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“God, buddy, you are damaged in the head,” Rick drawled, bending over and putting his hands on his knees like he was going to hurl.  
  
“Come on, Rick, you’re out here pissed that your girl won’t do anal and you think that’s not gay?” Miles shot back. A couple supportive whoops came from the crowd.  
  
“Who’s the other guy?” Chris drew the attention back to the photo.  
  
“What, you think I’m gonna tell y’all so you can ostracize him like me?” Miles challenged them. He dropped his board beneath his feet and hopped on. “You all can get fucked. I wish anyone here actually lived in the 21st century.” He skated off without a word more. He was heading to the abandoned house.  
  
As the groups began to disband, Jeremy beamed proudly at Waylon. “We fucked up Trager’s crew!” he patted Waylon’s arm. “What a fantastic fucking show. I’d never have guessed that Miles was a queer.”  
  
“That sucked,” Waylon admitted. “I hate confrontation.”  
  
“Why?” Jeremy asked. “I literally know nothing about that guy! I guess I’d’ve been pretty fucked up if it had been Dennis, but it’s not, so it’s whatever.”  
  
Waylon literally felt sick. His heart hurt. He knew he was a dick for letting Miles take the fall, and was impressed with how Miles had stood up for himself. But Waylon knew it was impossible to change these people which is why their relationship had to be a secret.  
  
“Man, thanks for emailing me,” Waylon clasped Jeremy’s hand, “but I gotta go work later. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, I’m heading home.” This was a blatant lie, and Waylon walked unsurely to the abandoned house. He had no idea what was going to go down.  
  
He gingerly climbed the steps, suddenly feeling like he was completely invading on Miles’ privacy. He knocked on the wood door frame, leaning his head in. “Miles?”  
  
The other wasn’t immediately apparent. Waylon went further into the house than usual; they often stuck to the front table and couch, but Waylon climbed past the debris by the steps to the back room. Miles was sitting on a boulder by a broken down wall inside the house, morning sun lighting a patch of moss on the floor. He was red and he was crying.  
  
“Miles—“ Waylon started.  
  
“What the fuck happened back there?” Miles started accusationally.  
  
“That did not go the way I expected–“ Waylon tried to defend himself.  
  
“Listen, you got me into this situation and you saved your own ass while I was left to suffer,” Miles wiped his nose, voice just barely shaking.  
  
“I didn’t ask you to admit anything!” Waylon defended himself. “I didn’t want you to!”  
  
“You should’ve known as soon as you saw that picture that it was clear as day me, there’s no way I could’ve denied that,” Miles argued. “And I don’t want to have to fucking pretend! I don’t want to have to sneak around to have what we have!”  
  
“Miles, stop, it would’ve been fine for us to be open about a relationship after everything settled down,” Waylon tried to reason with him. “After everyone moves away, after the summer.”  
  
“We don’t even know what we’re doing then,” Miles redirected. “What if we’re going halfway across the country? This summer is probably the only time we’ll ever have together, and if you don't want a relationship, that’s fucking fine by me!” He was getting hysterical, talking faster and faster. “I’m fine with us staying enemies, just watching our own backs and fucking on the side. I’ve done it before.”  
  
“No, Miles, it’s not like that,” Waylon tried to reach for him but Miles pushed him away hard. “I… I do care about you, the time we spend together is the best in a long time, and not just because of the sex… I know I haven’t known you very long, but I… I really like you…”  
  
Miles narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips. “What, you think now is the right time to confess you love me? You think I’ll just fall into your arms and all this shit will go back to normal? It’s not fucking going to happen, Way, love isn’t real! Relationships only work if people make the choice to care for the other person and put effort into them, which you obviously are not doing. So cut the bullshit and fuck off.”  
  
This hit Waylon like a ton of bricks. Miles’ bleak outlook made Waylon so deeply sad, but he was right. A relationship wasn’t going to work between them unless Waylon was all in. But, Waylon was a coward, so there was no way he was giving up his comfortable life for something new for the last few months of his teenagerdom. He reached forward and touched Miles’ arm, hand sliding up to cup his face, rub Miles’ tears. Boys shouldn’t cry. Faggots cry.  
  
Miles lingered in his touch for a second before shrugging him off. “Waylon… until you’re ready to be honest with yourself… leave this place and never come back.”  
  
Waylon swallowed thickly. He felt like crying. Miles was crushed, but he couldn’t be here for him. “Miles, please, let’s talk about this,” Waylon pleaded, but after his ultimatum, Miles went nonverbal. It hurt Waylon to leave Miles in this sorry state, but he clearly needed time alone.  
  
Waylon went home and took a shower and cried for the first time in ten years.


	6. Nollie

Waylon didn’t hear from anyone for the rest of the day. He stayed home and flipped between the ten channels he had in at home on his ancient TV. He tried to move Miles away from his thoughts. Things had gone to shit, sure, but he had to get past it. He’d live eighteen years without Miles, so he could stand a few more months.    
  
He told himself he hadn’t meant to hurt Miles. It wasn’t his fault.    
  
He slept through the afternoon until his dad got home. Waking up at 6:30 in his day clothes, he felt like he was in another dimension. His dad was surprised to see him home – pretty much every night in the summer, Waylon was out well into the light. “Hey, Way, buddy, are you alright?”    
  
Waylon rubbed his eyes; he’d only woken up at the sound of the door opening and was trying to figure out what time it was. “Yeah, dad, I’m fine.”    
  
His dad tiredly took off his pack and glasses. “If something’s wrong,” he sighed, “you can tell me. I promise I’m not going to judge you.”    
  
Waylon shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong,” he reconsidered, “You wouldn’t understand.”    
  
“Are you feeling sick?” His dad sat down by his feet on the couch and pressed a hand to the back of Waylon’s forehead.    
  
“Sure,” Waylon agreed. “I felt sick today. I just need a little time off.”    
  
“Hmm,” his dad frowned. “I’ll make whatever you want for dinner if it’ll make you feel better.”    
  
“Sure,” Waylon agreed and rolled over. “Can we have grilled cheeses?”    
  
“Of course,” his dad patted his leg. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”    
  
Waylon ate a quarter of a sandwich but had no appetite. He had another shower and went to lie in bed feeling sick.    
  
The next day, he forced himself to go to the park. He put himself to work taking pictures of Dennis, Jer, and Lisa with their phones so they’d have some fun memories. He forced himself not to look over at Trager’s crew. He marked his next payday on the calendar and picked out which board he was going to buy as soon as he got paid. He held Lisa’s hand while they sat on the benches. He complained about how much he hated life with Jeremy.    
  
But it all felt artificial. Waylon couldn’t help but feel like he could do so much more now.    
  
He didn’t see Miles until a while later in the week. Waylon had been sitting on the bench with his hat shielding the sun from his eyes. Miles was looking fantastic wearing a light jean shirt over dark joggers, skating up at a measurable speed. Waylon carefully watched the other group, trying to be discreet.    
  
Miles nodded at them, and right away Chris turned away from him. Trager skated up to him and tried to speak softly, but it was clear enough for everyone to hear. “Listen, buddy, it’s nothing personal, but we can’t hang with you anymore. Hurts all our reputations, know what I’m saying?”    
  
“Come on, how fucking old are you? 12?” Miles asked.    
  
Billy skated up too and put a hand on his arm. “Settle back, Upshur, there’s nothing you can do.”    
  
“Fellas, I’m just here to skate,” Miles said defeatedly. “We don’t have to hang out.”    
  
“We really think you should leave,” Trager insisted, and Chris stepped up behind him, cracking his knuckles.    
  
Waylon felt sick. They were being excessive.    
  
Miles shook his head, raised his hands in defeat, and skated off without another world. Jer surprised Waylon by slapping a hand on his back. “Fuckin’ pity to watch, huh,” he said quietly. “Luckily, our group’s as tight as ever.” Lisa smiled and gave them a peace sign before grinding the rail.    
  
Waylon gulped. He was realizing more and more just how uncomfortable he was hanging out with his friends.    
  
At the end of the day, he walked home with a detour by the library. He could see Miles sitting at a table through a window. He didn’t stop.

* * *

He got home before his dad did, which meant he was able to use the laptop. He had a lot to think about, and there was only one person he trusted. 

  
He opened Skype and messaged his mom.   
  
A lot of things in his life had changed since the divorce. He’d had the option to move to Florida with his mom, but at the time, he’d been thirteen and hadn’t wanted to lose his friends. He was still the same five years later: too cowardly to give up the shitty relationships he had. He needed the courage to be who he really was, and his mom was the only person that could give it to him.   
  
He knew the timing was iffy – it was already 7 or 8 in Florida, but he hoped she’d be around her computer. After he saw her typing, he went right away and started a video call, watching his hollow face on the video cam as it rang.   
  
When his mom picked up, his heart soared, and he immediately became very emotional. “Mom, thanks for answering,” he smiled at her.   
  
“Of course, Way,” she smiled at him, picture low res from their slow internet connection, but even hearing her voice was enough. “What’s up?”   
  
“I…” Waylon didn’t even know where to start. “I have a lot of things on my mind, and dad’s so hard to talk to.”   
  
“God, I know that,” she smiled and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s wrong?”   
  
Waylon was forced to vocalize his worries. “I… I’ve been having a lot of troubles with my friends lately,” he admitted. Maybe this was the first time he admitted it to himself.   
  
“Well, why don’t you tell me, and we’ll work out what you should do,” she smiled gently. “I’m sure we can find a solution.”   
  
She was such a great mom; Waylon’s life had only started to go downhill after his dad had chased her off. “I made a new friend this summer,” he started. “Someone I really liked, someone who I had a lot in common with a-and felt like a natural new addition to my friend group.”   
  
“Like a kindred spirit,” his mom suggested.  
  
“Yeah, exactly,” Waylon agreed. “But, like… I told a lie that hurt my new friend. I had to tell it or my old friends wouldn’t like me, like Lisa and Jeremy and everyone, but now, when I hang out with them, I just feel guilty for lying and betraying my new friend. But the thing is, if I confess now, Jeremy and all them definitely won’t like me, and it’s not guaranteed that my new friend will forgive me.”   
  
“Oh, Way, that sounds terrible,” his mom comforted him. “I’m glad you called me. I think what’s important here is which of your friends you’d rather stay with.”   
  
“I feel like,” Waylon was searching for words. “Like, if I stay with my old friends, there’s a natural way everyone has to be. But I feel like that’s not really… who I am. And I feel like I can really be myself with my new friend.”   
  
“So it sounds like you’re not getting much from your current friends,” his mom noted, “so I’d say you should just tell them the truth. If they don’t like you for it, it’s their loss, in a few months, they’ll all be leaving for college anyway. And at least that way, there’s a chance your new friend will forgive you.”   
  
“You’re right,” Waylon agreed. “You’re always right, thank you so much.”   
  
“Waylon, are you having problems knowing who you are?” his mom asked.   
  
Waylon shook his head. “I don’t know. Kind of. I’ll figure it out.”   
  
“Is it about school? Or about your personality?” she asked.   
  
“Kind of both,” Waylon shamefully admitted. Part of him wanted to tell his mom, but he was getting emotional again. He didn’t want to cry. “I think I’m going to apply for a couple universities this summer. Maybe head somewhere for the winter term.”   
  
“Oh, Waylon, that would be fantastic,” she beamed. “I would be so proud. I know you can do it.”   
  
“Yeah,” Waylon smiled a little sadly. “I-I’ll let you know if everything ever comes from it. Like, I shouldn’t need my friends’ approval to pick where I want to go to school.”   
  
“That’s something that’s going to be with you your whole life, Way,” she smiled gently at him. “So all that matters is what you like. What they think won’t matter when you’re happy in ten years. I’m behind you no matter what.”   
  
“Thanks, mom,” Waylon said weakly, smiling and feeling like he would tear up. “You make everything so much better. I wish you were here.”   
  
“Oh, Way, I wish I could be with you every day,” she sighed. “I miss you so much. If things go terribly this summer, you are completely welcome to stay with me until you head to university.”   
  
His mom was truly an angel. “Thank you so much,” he smiled, touched.   
  
“Are you sure there’s nothing else on your mind, honey?” she asked softly. “You can tell me, I promise getting it off your chest will make you feel better.”   
  
Waylon’s knee-jerk response was to tell her it was nothing more, to promise her everything was alright. The problem was, if he followed her advice, he would be out to all his friends soon, and he was in this situation because of lying. Still, he was hardly mentally prepared to come out to his mom.   
  
But there were so many ways she could react! He was fine if his friends shunned him when he came out to his friends, but if his own mother was uncomfortable with it, it would break his little heart. “I… I guess there is something, but I feel like I shouldn’t tell you over skype,” he worried aloud. “I’m worried you’re going to think of me differently because of it…” He was already starting to shake, his overactive imagination taking him back to the way his peers had reacted to Miles. What if his mom thought he was sick? What if she knew about him having gay sex?  
  
“Waylon, you’re my son no matter what, alright?” she tried to comfort him. “If it’s gonna upset you, you don’t have to tell me.”   
  
“I… I want to tell you now,” Waylon decided.   
  
“Whenever you’re ready,” his mom settled into her chair, insisting, “there is no rush.”   
  
But as time went on, Waylon was just getting more shaken up, tears threatening to come now. He wasn’t getting any better to tell her. “Mom… I don’t want you to hate me,” he cried.   
  
“Waylon, I won’t hate you,” she promised him, looking sad herself. “Is this about your personality?” Waylon nodded wordlessly, eyes crunching. “Is this about how you feel about girls and boys?” Waylon nodded again. “Baby, are you trying to tell me that you’re gay?”   
  
“Yeah,” Waylon nodded, a tear rolling out of his eye.   
  
“Oh, Waylon, I know you are,” his mom comforted him.  
  
Waylon felt ridiculous for crying over this. He laughed despite himself. Of  _course_ his mom knew. "Really?" 

"Of course, hun," his mom was smiling wide. "I knew it would take you a little while but I don't want you to think I could ever hate you for something like that. I love you no matter what, okay?"

Waylon was laughing at himself now, still a little teary. “I love you so much.” After a second, once he'd regained his composure, he asked,  “does dad know?”    
  
His mom shrugged. “He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”    
  
“Please don’t tell him,” Waylon begged. “I don’t think he’s ready.”    
  
“It is your life, Waylon,” his mom assured him. “You don’t have to do anything before you’re ready.”    
  
Their conversation wound down, and immediately after, Waylon already felt better. He knew he had to tell his friends, and at least then he could spend time with Miles without feeling guilty. This was all assuming Miles would take him back, but if not, he’d move down to Florida and make new friends and be his true self.    
  
That night, he wrote Miles an email. He would’ve called the house, but he wasn’t ready to talk to Miles and definitely didn’t want to reach his father accidentally. It was easy enough to track down Miles’ email; Jeremy was too dumb to know the difference between a CC and a BCC. Waylon approved of Miles’ Gmail account – most of the fools in his town used mail.com or Yahoo or Hotmail – and drafted him a quick message.    
  
_ Just came out to my mom. Funny story, we should get together sometime so you can hear it. I decided I’m gonna come out to the crews as well, so if you want to come take your turn watching me cry about tomorrow at the skate park, you’re welcome. It doesn’t feel right lying to people I don’t give a shit about, so I might as well tell them the truth. _ __   
  
He hit send without a second thought and opened up the laptop again, this time searching for the best IT programs in the country.

* * *

The next day, Waylon knew he had to carry through with what he’d said. He dressed to make him feel as confident as possible – tight muscle tee, well fitted straight leg jeans. He was a man on a mission.    
  
The usual crews were already at the park by the time Waylon got there. That’s how he’d planned it, he didn’t want to wait or he knew he’d bitch out. He carefully watched for Miles and found him on the other side of the park, looking in his direction, keeping a safe distance away from the hostile crews. Waylon beelined for the raised area between the two adjacent halfpipes. He wanted higher ground.    
  
“Excuse me everyone!” he called out to the six below him. “I’ve got an announcement, so listen up.”    
  
“What the fuck are you doing up there?” Jeremy hissed up at him. Trager’s crew came over intently.    
  
“I know that mysterious picture has been high on everyone’s minds lately,” Waylon started. “I thought you’d all like a little more info on it.”   
  
“Spill it, Park!” Walker called from below.    
  
Waylon rubbed his hands together. “I just thought I should clarify that the other guy in the picture is… well, it’s me, I’m gay and I’ve been sleeping with Miles.”    
  
Lisa looked to the ground and shook her head. The guys stared blankly up at him, completely confused.    
  
“Is this a joke?” Jeremy hollered at him. “Fuck off, Park, you’re not gay.”    
  
“I am,” Waylon surely said.    
  
“No, you’re not!” Jeremy insisted, “I’ve known you for years and you’ve never acted gay ever.”    
  
“Not everyone gay has to act fruity,” Waylon glared down at him. “I am manly as fuck, but I’m gay as well.”    
  
“Miles t-turned him gay!” Dennis called out. “He s-s-seduced him!”    
  
“That’s not how it fucking works,” Waylon glared at him. “I’ve known for a long time.”    
  
Trager was bending over laughing. “Jer… you think I hang with fags but you’ve been hanging with Waylon for ten years! You are so gay!”    
  
“How could you do this to me?” Jeremy screamed. He took his board and smashed it into the concrete, climbing up the pipe and swinging at Waylon. The blond scurried back to the hard ground as Jeremy squared up. “You fucking associated with me for your whole life as an undercover faggot? You’re so fucking sick, I’m gonna knock some sense right back into that goddamn skull of yours!”    
  
“Waylon, don’t!” Lisa called as the others climbed up and began to crowd Waylon and Jeremy. “You can’t beat him!”    
  
Waylon had to admit he was afraid. He was no fighter, but he was so furious at Jeremy right now, he didn’t care how pulverized he would get. He wasn’t even upset at this adverse reaction, probably because he anticipated it.    
  
The fight started suddenly with Jeremy running towards him, grabbing him hard around the waist and trying to force him to the ground. Over his shoulder, Waylon tried to ram Blaire’s skull with his elbow, pushing back and trying to stay upright. Jeremy managed to force Waylon onto his back and started swinging at his head. Waylon covered his face and jerked his knees up, contacting Jeremy’s hips and forcing him off. Waylon leapt to his feet and struck Jeremy’s face as the other tried to get up. Jeremy’s foot came into contact with Waylon’s chest and he was knocked back again, giving Jeremy time to get up.    
  
For a second, they stared at each other, both finally back on their feet. The crowd around them was going crazy, Billy yelling, “Do it! Do it!”    
  
Waylon’s lips were bleeding already, and he spat blood onto the white cement. As Jeremy swung back to prepare to punch him in the head, Waylon ducked back and countered with a good punch right to Jeremy’s nose. The crunch that emanated was so satisfying.    
  
“You’re going to fucking regret that, Park!” Jeremy screamed, nose instantly covering his face with blood. “I’m going to break your fucking hips so you’ll never even fucking think of being gay again!”    
  
Waylon couldn’t do anything as Jeremy ran at him again, kicking him in the ribs, and as Waylon’s forehead hit the cement, Jeremy was right back on him, stomping on his back and on his hips. Waylon wasn’t aware that he was yelling, but he was. This was just getting sad for everyone watching.    
  
“Blaire, lay off, you can’t hit him while he’s down!” Trager yelled.    
  
But Jeremy had cracked. He was insane, and for a second, Waylon remembered why he was so afraid of him. As the older teen didn’t slow down, people began to rush in. Chris grabbed Jeremy from behind, trying to drag Jeremy off of Waylon. Jeremy got a couple more good stomps of Waylon’ hips into the cement and a hard kick right to Waylon’s crotch. The pain shot up Waylon’s spine, his stomach burning. His vision blurred and he gagged, worrying that if he’d eaten anything for breakfast, he would’ve thrown up.    
  
He could barely register Jeremy’s finishing threat: “Do me a favor and die here, Park.”    
  
Trager and Chris had to work together to get him away, and the rest of the group kind of stared at Waylon with a distant disgust. He was in terrible shape, beat all to hell, but he knew this was hardly the end. After a second of lying into the cement, he felt small and soft hands on his shoulder. Lisa’s voice was muffled. “Waylon—are you okay?”    
  
She helped him to roll over and he spit more blood out of his mouth. Immediately, his gaze shot to where Miles had been watching, but he was gone. His stomach turned. He told himself this was something he had to do. Turning his gaze back to Lisa, he was happy to see that she was still here for him. “I’m so fucking sorry I lied to you,” he slurred, blood still trailing out of his mouth. “I wasn’t ready for you to know.”    
  
“I’ve been fine with you being gay since day one, you know that, right?” she grinned at him. “Jeremy’s insane. Let’s get you somewhere to get you cleaned up.”    
  
Waylon was surprised to see Dennis and Billy still around too. “You guys aren’t pissed that I’m gay?” he slurred as Lisa helped him get to his feet. His legs were still shaky.    
  
Billy shrugged. “I still think it’s wrong, but you didn’t deserve this. I mean, you’re human.”    
  
“Thank you,” Waylon said softly as Lisa threw one of his arms over her shoulder and Dennis did the same on the other side.    
  
They headed back to Lisa’s house because it was closest and her parents both worked all day. Waylon sat on the living room chair holding a paper towel to his bleeding mouth as she dug around for ice in her freezer.    
  
“You g-g-got a couple good hits on ‘im,” Dennis patted Waylon’s arm. “You’re t-tougher than you look.”    
  
“Thanks,” Waylon smiled, revealing bloody teeth. “I have a feeling this is far from over.”    
  
“Here,” Lisa passed Waylon an ice pack wrapped in a thin cloth. “You should put this on your hips. They’re gonna bruise like hell.”    
  
Waylon rolled his joggers a bit lower to reveal his hip bones and cringed when he saw blood vessels completely broken and already bleeding down the inside of his legs. This was definitely the most damage Jeremy had done – the braises to his face were very minor, but the crushing of his hips into the cement was so hard his hip bones had nearly busted through his skin.    
  
“That looks like shit,” Billy cringed too as Waylon put the ice pack on one side first.    
  
“Thank you guys for stopping him,” Waylon winced at the cold ice on his bare skin.    
  
“I mean, he can’t take all of us,” Lisa gingerly rubbed Waylon’s shoulder.    
  
They all sat there for a minute, trying to settle. Lisa brought them all some lemonade, stress clear on her face.    
  
“So… you really been out here fucking my cousin?” Billy asked after a long silence.    
  
Waylon’s stomach turned at the truth in the statement. “… Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry if you guys think it’s gross.”    
  
Dennis shook his head. “That just ain’t right…”    
  
“But, like,” Waylon tried to find his words, “I don’t know. It’s stupid. Sorry I said anything, but I had to get it off my chest.”    
  
“Look, it shouldn’t affect us at all,” Lisa tried to convince the other guys. “We never noticed for all these years.”    
  
Dennis shrugged. “Yeah w-we like you, W-Waylon. We wouldn’t b-b-be here otherwise.”    
  
“I am so grateful for that,” Waylon said softly.    
  
“… What is the sex like?” Billy asked. “It just seems weird. I have no clue how it works.”   
  
Waylon blushed a little and moved the ice pack to the other side. “It… it was nice. It was weird, you’re right, it was so unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I didn’t want to be gay, ‘cause, like, I knew y’all would react like this. But once I realized I actually wanted it, it felt really good. Miles just, like…” he was getting flustered, shaking his head. “He looks nice, so he made it nice. Like, he has no acne scars and his teeth are nice and he’s tall and muscular… but being with him didn’t make me feel like less of a man. He’s just… he’s a great guy.”    
  
Waylon could tell he was close to getting through to them, but just not quite. “It’s like… y’know how you can’t imagine yourself banging an ugly chick?” he asked Billy and Dennis, “But, like, if she was the hottest chick ever, you’d do anything she wanted? It’s like that, but I don’t like tits.”   
  
Dennis nodded and Waylon thought he’d really made some progress. They were immediately sending him away, so this wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, despite his horrible wounds.    
  
After a little more time with Lisa and the guys, Waylon was feeling steady enough to walk by himself again. His face had stopped bleeding and he looked a bit more back to normal, despite the blood stains on his shirt and pants. He headed to the abandoned house, but Miles was nowhere to be found. He’d give Miles some more time off. The fact that Lisa, Billy, and Dennis had started to accept him was good. Everything couldn’t be fixed in one day.    
  
The next day was payday again. He stopped by the diner, apologized to the assistant manager for his absence during the last few days and told him that Gluskin was giving him a bad vibe and worked to get his shifts sorted for the next few weeks. He got his next paycheck – only $115, but it put him over what he needed for a board. He headed home to get his other cheque so he could cash both.    
  
When he got home, he couldn’t help but notice the laptop still open to the homepage for various technology universities. He sat down and flipped through the tabs, thinking again about applying. The last tab he’d had open was for North Central University. Miles’ school. He was looking at the admission page for the winter term: the fee was $200 and the application deadline was in three weeks.    
  
Waylon knew Miles deserved more than this shit town, and if anyone deserved it, he did.    
  
He didn’t even want a skateboard that bad, anyway. He wouldn’t be skating with his old squad, anyway.    
  
So Waylon stopped by his bank, deposited his cheques and got $200 cash out. He texted Billy with his flip phone to get Miles’ address. The house was on the other side of town in the suburbs, but his mind was set. Even if Miles didn’t care about him, Waylon still wanted what was good for him. He put the money through the mail slot in an envelope labeled _Miles_ University Fund and took off without saying another word. He didn’t need to force Miles to love him; Miles had given him the confidence to accept himself, so this was the least he could do to repay him.     



	7. Frontside

Things finally seemed to be sorting themselves for Waylon. Although his body was still terribly sore, he knew he was getting better. He didn’t see Jeremy at all that day, which was a pleasant change. He relaxed and iced his wounds again, alright with this change of pace.   
  
That night, the computer dinged with an email for him. It was from Miles. _Meet at the usual plac_ e. Waylon threw on a sweater and beelined for the abandoned house.   
  
It was a chilly night for July, and when Waylon approached the house, there was light inside the windows. As he entered, there was a thick white candle sitting on the ancient dining table. Miles was sitting on the couch, looking at the envelope in his hands when Waylon came in.   
  
“What’s this?” Miles held up the envelope.   
  
“I got paid today,” Waylon answered. “You actually need the money; I don’t. You should apply for the winter term at Georgetown like you wanted to.”   
  
“I can’t accept this,” Miles pushed the envelope back towards Waylon.   
  
“Please,” Waylon’s lips were thin. “There’s so much hope for you, Miles, and at least this way I can help.”   
  
Miles looked down at the money again. “… I’m not applying unless you do, too. That was our deal.”   
  
Waylon snorted. “I kind of assumed our deal was off since our confrontation.” He looked to the floor. “I mean, I left you in a shitty situation, so does getting you out of another one balance it out?”   
  
Miles’ eyes were low. “If I apply there, I’m gonna get in. It’s easy. That means I have to move back to D.C.”   
  
Waylon shrugged. “I’d rather you be happy than suffer here with me.”   
  
A smile began to build on his face. “Shit, Park, you do care about me. This is new.”   
  
“I've _been_ caring about you!” Waylon insisted. “I never stopped! I felt so sick after not telling the truth, I had to confess. Even if you still didn’t want to see me, I’m sick of pretending to be something I’m not to fit into the natural order of things. I’m okay with standing out, even if I catch shit for it.”   
  
Miles shook his head. “Why… why me?”   
  
Waylon shrugged. “Because you’re attractive and you’re so complex. I want to know everything about you, Miles, I want you so much.”   
  
Miles’ face was so soft. “I want you, too. I can’t stay mad at you. They were so rough on you coming out!”   
  
“Which is why I didn’t want to,” Waylon admitted. “But they were hardly good on you either!”   
  
“I didn’t get beat all to hell,” Miles reached forward and gingerly touched the rough skin on Waylon’s brow and forehead.   
  
“Where did you go?” Waylon asked.   
  
“I couldn’t watch,” Miles frowned. “I fucking hate violence. I’m glad you made it out okay.”   
  
“I gotta work harder at avoiding Jeremy,” Waylon admitted. “After they got him off of me, everything was okay. I mean, they said some shit, but nothing worse than what I could imagine.”   
  
“It doesn’t matter what they think anyway,” Miles insisted. “Now we don’t have to sneak around. We can spend all day together. We’re going to university. I’ll help you get an application together, we can do this!”   
  
“We can do this,” Waylon repeated, taking Miles’ hand and squeezing.   
  
“Come on, let’s get started,” Miles started pulling Waylon away. “Let’s go to my place!”   
  
“Miles,” Waylon spoke slowly, suggestively, “I… need you first, if you know what I mean.”   
  
“Oh. Oh!” Miles suddenly caught on, a smiling bubbly mess. “I didn’t bring supplies. Still, there’s no one home at my place, my parents are camping up on Mount Massive for the weekend! You can spend the night.”   
  
Waylon’s heart turned. He was actually in love with this man.   
  
So he followed Miles back to his suburban house, finding tons of interesting cultural decorations. It smelled like good food and had a comfortable breeze blowing through the open windows. Waylon texted his dad to let him know he was staying over at a friend’s house but then his complete attention was on Miles.   
  
Since their time was no longer limited, he got to use Miles’ beautiful Asus laptop to get a jump on a couple universities. Miles instructed him on how to phrase things, what these people wanted to hear. Waylon had enough left in his bank account to apply to one school.   
  
“Berkeley?” he stared at the homepage for the prestigious California school.   
  
“Your grades are high enough to get in,” Miles assured him. “And a degree from Berkeley is worth a fuck ton.”   
  
“You think I should move to California?” Waylon asked.   
  
“Look at this,” Miles tapped the screen to another tab for the University of Southern California. “They have a killer journalism program here that I could probably weasel my way into. Then this wouldn’t just have to be a summer romance.”   
  
“Shit. Shit, you’re right,” Waylon smiled at him. “We don’t have to apply for schools in different places. We could stay together. I’d like that.”   
  
“So let’s start here,” Miles put him back to the Berkeley page. “We’ll pick other schools tomorrow.”   
  
So they applied to their California schools. This was the start of something great.   
  
Miles made them some tasty food and then they made love in his huge double bed. As they undressed each other, Miles was shocked to find the huge black bruises right over both of Waylon’s hips.  Miles was so tender with Waylon, pressing gentle kisses onto the bruises, reminding Waylon exactly why he let himself get them.   
  
Sleeping in Miles’ embrace, Waylon knew he’d give up everything for this. 

* * *

Over the weekend and through the next week, Miles and Waylon spent time with each other only. They weren’t afraid of being seen anymore. They didn’t skate anymore. They applied to schools across the states with all the savings Miles could dig up and the tips Waylon got from work. Miles took Waylon to the library and showed him the creative writing club he was helping out with. Waylon took a coding class at the library and started a new fund for a new laptop for him. They texted each other now – Waylon hated using his ancient flip phone, but he loved being in touch with Miles. In D.C., Miles had been embarrassed by his off-model Samsung phone, but now, he seemed to be the only kid in town with a smartphone of any kind.   
  
Things cooled down. Trager stopped honking at Miles and Waylon every time he saw them together. Jeremy Blaire stopped calling Waylon’s house phone. Waylon’s dad stopped being suspicious about why he was spending so much time out with this boy. After another week, Miles and Waylon risked going back to the skate park. They walked together, Miles with his board under his arm, their fingers entwined between them.   
  
Surprisingly, at the park, the groups were not as defined as they usually were. Dennis and Billy were skating together, and Lisa was talking to Chris of all people! Waylon gave them a little wave and everyone smiled back at him. This was a future he hadn’t thought was possible.   
  
“I’m gonna go skate,” Miles squeezed Waylon’s hand and dropped his board. “I’ll give you a minute to catch up with your friends.”   
  
Before Waylon could make his way over to Lisa, a menacing figure appeared on the horizon, casting long shadows toward the park. Jeremy Blaire slid up towards them, blocking Waylon’s path to Lisa. The noise at the park almost immediately quieted down. “Waylon Park,” Jeremy said slowly, picking up his board. “I thought you wouldn’t have the nerve to show your face around here again.”   
  
“Listen, Blaire, we’re not here to pick fights,” Waylon said honestly. “We’re here to skate.”   
  
“Y’know, since you pulled your little betrayal, the rest of our group has been losing their loyalty,” Blaire spoke quietly. “Stupid, Mr. Park.”   
  
“You’re the one who kicked me out of the group,” Waylon stood up for himself. “Literally.”   
  
Lisa was skating up now as Jeremy went on. “It’s just that other people think that since you’re gone, they are free to go as well.”   
  
“Jeremy, you can’t control who hangs out with you,” Lisa said. “Give it up, the squads have dissembled.”   
  
Waylon shot her a thumbs up and Jeremy smiled. “Lisa, you really can’t be talking to this faggot.”   
  
“Excuse me, that is incredibly fucking rude,” Lisa stepped between them, putting her hands on her hips.     
  
“Listen, Lisa, it’s just proper that we stay in our groups until the end of summer!” Jeremy insisted.   
  
“Without Waylon, I’m not staying,” Lisa said surely. “And I’m sure you’d rather die than hang out with someone who’s gay.”   
  
“Waylon Park,” Jeremy growled, his eyes locked on Waylon’s past Lisa. “You couldn’t just play along.”   
  
“We’re all sick of pretending to be something we’re not!” Waylon shot back.   
  
“We won’t keep living this stupid skateboarding lie!” Lisa yelled right into Jeremy’s face.   
  
“Get the fuck out of my way!” Jeremy grabbed Lisa’s arm and harshly pulled her off to the side.   
  
“Hey, fucking let her go!” Waylon cried, shoving Jeremy back so he was forced to release Lisa. “Don’t you ever lay your hands on her, man!”   
  
“What, you’re gonna stand up for her even though you don’t want to do her?” Jeremy teased. “You don’t need to go through all this to get pussy, Park. She’s easier than that.”   
  
“Show some fucking respect,” Waylon pushed Jeremy’s chest again. He was ready to fight. He was ready to finish this.   
  
“Dennis, get help,” Lisa called as the Jeremy squared up.   
  
“You ready for another beating, Park?” Blaire teased. “The first time wasn’t enough for you?”   
  
Waylon didn’t hesitate this time. He sprinted towards Jeremy, already swinging at his head. With his shoulder, he rammed Jeremy back, and although the other was instantly grabbing Waylon’ back, Waylon still managed to get him down on the ground and pin him between his legs, punching Jeremy right in the face.   
  
This pig deserved every blow.   
  
Jeremy grabbed Waylon’s neck from the ground and squeezed, absorbing the blows easily. Waylon could stand the choke hold. Jeremy’s hands moved from his neck to Waylon’s hair, grabbing where it was longest on top and pulling him off to the side. Now, Jeremy had the upper ground and was beating Waylon’s head again.   
  
Waylon managed to kick Jeremy in the stomach and somehow, he was back on his feet. As Jeremy got up, Waylon rushed to shove him back into a cement wall, hitting his head and chest. Jeremy was trying to hit him back, but at this point, it was pretty balanced.   
  
However, Jeremy caught a hold of Waylon’s hair again, and this time, he dragged the blond’s head over into the concrete wall. Waylon’s legs gave out under him and he fell unconscious for half a second, waking up on his knees leaning against the wall. His brain pounded. He needed to finish this.   
  
Jeremy was giving this terrible unhuman laugh, standing back and rubbing blood out of his eyes. His forehead was bleeding just a little. “Anyone else?”   
  
But Waylon had forced himself back to his feet. From behind, he hit Jeremy in the back of his head, then as he fell, proceeded to kick him in his arms and side. Jeremy was trying to kick him back, but Waylon was holding him in place.   
  
“Stop!” Jeremy suddenly cried, grabbing his arm. Everyone stared from around the skate park. Waylon slowed; he wasn’t insane. Jeremy scooted around so he was sitting upright and back a few steps away from Waylon, grimacing. “I think you fucking broke my arm. I have to go to the hospital.”   
  
Waylon hated this. He thought Jeremy gave him a concussion, but that hadn't stopped him. He wasn’t crazy, though. He started to walk away. “Park… help me up… please…”   
  
Waylon wasn’t a bad person. He really wasn’t. He’d known Jeremy for ten years, he didn’t want to actually hurt him. He slowly approached Jeremy, holding his aching head. He offered the other man a hand, only to see a sudden flash of silver. A blade. And before Waylon knew up from down, there was a terrible pain from his stomach and he’d fallen backward, and Jeremy was standing over him with a switchblade in his hands. “No one can leave this place!” Jeremy insisted, “no one!”   
  
But before the blade could do any more damage, a shadow swept over him, blotting out the sun, and he saw someone punch Jeremy square in the face. The douchebag dropped unconscious to the ground with the force of the one hit. Waylon couldn’t understand what he was seeing. The shadow stepped in and his eyes adjusted to find Miles touching his arm. “Shit, are you okay? Park, we’re gonna get you out of here! Stay with me!”   
  
Waylon felt so light-headed, squeezing one hand tight to his wound. He was bleeding a lot. “Miles…” he said very softly. “I thought you couldn’t stand violence…”   
  
“I’d do anything to protect you,” Miles promised, getting under his arm. Waylon’s head tipped forward as he fell nearly unconscious again. “Chris, help me carry him!”  
  
“Here comes Dennis with the police!” Lisa yelled. Waylon couldn’t see.   
  
“Make sure he knows exactly what went down,” Miles said. “Make sure they take him in and make sure no serious damage was done, but he’s far from innocent.”   
  
“Here, buddy, put him in my car,” Trager’s voice came from a little ways away. Waylon was trying hard to stay awake. “Just watch not to get blood on the seats.”   
  
Waylon felt someone press something to his wound and forced his eyes open to see another hand brown hand pressing a black shirt to his wound. He turned his head just slightly to see Miles shirtless, a tense look on his face as he walked him towards the Camaro. Waylon smiled deliriously. He was really growing to love this man. Miles guided him into the back seat, shirt carefully placed to keep as much blood in as possible. Chris squeeze in on the other side and Billy hopped in the front seat. This was the first time Waylon had been in the club car.   
  
Waylon lost consciousness before they got him to the hospital. He phased in while they were moving him out of the car, mostly because he was in so much pain. While he was awake, Waylon was aware he was crying, his cheeks wet with tears, his hands crusted with blood. He was making these soft little whimpers and Miles’ hand was on his back, scratching gently, relieving his pain. His heart hurt.  
  
He lost consciousness again until he was in a bed in the emergency room. He was up for a second randomly, opening his eyes are looking around without moving his body. There was a thick IV in his arm and blood was draining into him from a large bag above him. Miles’ hand was now in his hair, rubbing circles on his sore scalp.  
  
The screen to his room pulled back and his dad rushed in, sunglasses pushed into his head, jacket falling off one shoulder. Waylon could barely comprehend what he was hearing, but he forced himself to.  
  
“Mr. Park? Waylon got stabbed in a fight at the skatepark… he’s going to be fine, he’s getting stitches if you give the doctor the ok.”  
  
“What? Who are you? How did this happen?”  
  
“I…” he felt Miles’ hand withdraw from his scalp. “I’m Miles, I’m a friend of Waylon’s.”  
  
“Dad…” Waylon whispered, forcing his eyes open again. “Come here…”  
  
His dad swallowed and knelt beside him. “Waylon, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re okay.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Waylon breathed. “It’s not as bad as it looks… I have to tell you something.”  
  
His eyes turned over to Miles who met his gaze and started to withdraw, but Waylon spoke, “no, stay,” and Miles sat on the other side of the bed.  
  
“Dad,” Waylon gingerly turned his head towards him, “I need to tell you… in case surgery goes bad… that I’m gay… I told mom a few weeks ago and I know it’s gonna be hard for me b-but it’s who I am and Miles isn’t just my friend, he’s my boyfriend and…” Waylon was so tired, he rested his head back again and closed his eyes.  
  
When Waylon woke up, he was out of surgery and sporting a new set of stitches right along his right side. He felt more like himself again — they must have got enough blood back into him. It was dark outside now. He was in a different room now, one with real walls and chairs and a couch. All of his friends were around. Miles was wearing someone else’s hoodie. Waylon cleared his throat and everyone looked at him.   
  
“What happened?” he asked. It was a little blurry.  
  
Lisa stood up and came over to him. “Do you remember fighting with Jeremy?”  
  
“Yeah,” Waylon said softly. “Is he okay?”  
  
“Of course that prick’s arm wasn’t broken,” Lisa scowled. “He was fine, save a couple scrapes and bruises. They have him down at the police station now, he’s gonna be locked up for a little while, at least.”  
  
“He did this?” Waylon looked down at the gauze along his naked chest.  
  
“‘Cause he’s a cheating bastard,” Rick frowned. “I mean, even I have limits.”  
  
“You’ve got a mild concussion, too,” Miles stood beside him and grasped his hand. “God, Jeremy is a sadist.”  
  
“Apparently what he does counts as a hate crime as well,” Lisa suggested. “And we’ll all testify that he did it because you were gay.”  
  
“Does that mean you guys are okay with it?” Waylon asked. “I mean, you’re here with me and not out there with him.”  
  
“It doesn’t really… affect us,” Billy admitted. “So it’s fine for you guys to do whatever y’all want.”  
  
Waylon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His friends had reconsidered their traditional ways. He had never seen this coming.  
  
“I mean, seeing two guys hold hands is less upsetting than seeing Waylon bleed out on the cement,” Trager joked. He walked to the side of Way’s bed and put a hand on his arm, saying more quietly and seriously, “though I am dog grateful you’re okay.”  
  
“Y-you finally stood up to Jeremy,” Dennis smiled. “A-and now, we’re all s-s-safe. Thank you, Waylon.”  
  
Lisa gave him a sad little smile. “Thanks,” she agreed.  
  
As the time ticked on, visiting hours ended and all of the other skaters left. Waylon promised Miles he’d call him when he got home the next morning, and his dad came in, looking very hollow and very old.  
  
“Waylon… how are you feeling?” he asked, sitting a little ways away in the chair.  
  
Waylon shrugged. “The pain meds are kinda…” he made a vague gesture with his hand.  
  
“I’m so happy you’re alright,” his dad sighed. “I worry about you so much… Thank god Lisa called me at work, I-I got here as soon as I can.”  
  
“Dad,” Waylon stopped him mid-ramble. “You did fine. There was nothing more you could’ve done anyway.”  
  
“You should’ve called an ambulance,” his dad frowned.   
  
Waylon shrugged. “... not like I was really in the state to be making decisions…”  
  
“He gave you a concussion,” his dad stated. “That is kind of messed up.”  
  
“Jeremy Blaire is fucked in the head,” Waylon coughed, “and this town is a whole lot better with him locked up.”  
  
“Why were you fighting? I thought Jeremy was your friend,” his dad frowned.  
  
Waylon sighed. “He kind of was, but this was nothing new. Who do you think broke my nose earlier this summer and last year?”  
  
His dad furrowed his brow. “... You broke your nose?”  
  
Waylon had forgotten just how checked out his dad really was. “He was fighting with me today because he thought if he hurt me, I’d stop being gay.” Waylon lowered his eyes. “I hope you don’t feel that way, too…”  
  
His dad sighed. “Just… are you _sure,_ Waylon? I know there aren’t many pretty girls in Leadville, but…”  
  
“Liking girls just never felt right,” Waylon said softly. “And this does. Miles is really bright, really inspiring… he helped me apply to a couple universities, he helped get Jeremy Blaire off me…”  
  
“He seems like a nice guy, but…” his dad started.  
  
“Then that all there is to it,” Waylon was decided. “Mom was super supportive and I need you to try to be as well. I’m going to be leaving for university at some point in the next year, so this is our last chance to fix our relationship. I am making an effort, so please, please try as well.”  
  
His father was surprised at Waylon’s maturity. “Son… I promise I will try as hard as I can…”


	8. 360 Hardflip

Things got better again. Jeremy ended up serving six months in the federal prison; his father was furious that he had to miss his first semester at Penn State but the sentence could’ve been far worse. Everyone in each of the skate crews knew Jeremy would have killed Waylon if he got the chance, but they didn’t say that. Jeremy didn’t deserve to spend his life in prison; once he was out of the state, he was as good as gone.  
  
After a month, Waylon got his stitches out and was left with a sick scar along his side. His concussion didn’t take long to heal, and everything else was just temporary. He quit at Gluskin’s diner and got a new job at the town’s internet cafe serving drinks and picking up as much on computers as he could. He bought a cheap board (because all those years mastering the skill shouldn’t go to waste) but in general, people spent less time at the park.  
  
Waylon’s dad warmed up to Miles. Miles’ parents adored Waylon. After he got out of the hospital but before his concussion was fully healed, Miles helped Waylon re-dye his hair. It was so soft and intimate, at Miles’ house with Waylon leaned back, his head into the tub, Miles’ smartphone quietly playing whatever alternative music that was popular at the time. Working the bleach into Waylon’s roots, Miles realized that he would truly do anything for this man. When the dye was washed out and Waylon’s hair was towel dried, now back to a crisp yellow-white, Waylon leaned forward, back stiff from the tub, embracing Miles with his head over his shoulder and whispering into Miles' ear that he loved him.  
  
Miles had been serious when he said he didn’t believe in love, but it seemed Waylon would be an exception.  
  
They spent a lot less time at the abandoned house. They were able to hang out freely at either of their places or any number of places around town. The former generations always shot them looks, but most of the other high school kids learned to deal with it. They still headed out when they needed a little extra privacy, such as when their parents were home.  
  
When Waylon received the letter from Berkeley, he was speechless. He didn’t open it until Miles was over, and of course, the latter was not surprised when he got in.  
  
“Way, a 95 average in high school is fantastic,” Miles assured him. “You should’ve applied normal time, you’d be fine now.”  
  
“This is, like, the fourth most prestigious school in the States,” Waylon was breathless. “And I can start there this winter!”  
  
Miles embraced him from behind. “I am so proud of you.”  
  
“Have you heard anything from USC?” Waylon turned to Miles, praying that he had.  
  
But Miles shook his head. “A couple smaller schools, but nothing fantastic.”  
  
Waylon’s heart dropped. “Miles.”  
  
“But there’s still time,” Miles insisted. “You should get online and accept right now.”  
  
A lump was rising in Waylon’s throat. “Miles, I want this, but I don’t want to leave you…”  
  
“Listen, we didn’t know each other six months ago,” Miles grasped his head. “I know we get on well but I’m not letting you throw away for future for me!”  
  
“I wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t pushed me forward,” Waylon said sturdily, “and it would feel wrong if I got away and you didn’t. I’m not accepting anything until you’re sure you have something good.”  
  
So they waited. August rolled around and everyone began to move away to their own schools; Miles and Waylon were both working, trying to keep themselves busy. The deadline to accept Berkeley in time to be admitted for the winter term was becoming close, and Miles still hadn’t heard a thing.  
  
The week before the deadline, Waylon knew he had to decide. Thankfully, this coincided with another fantastic event – his mom was traveling for work and had a connecting flight through Denver. For the first time that year, he’d be able to see his mother face to face.  
  
Ara Holleran had, of course, returned to her maiden name after her divorce with Waylon’s father. She did not get to travel much, so Waylon wanted to take full advantage of any time he got. He wanted her to meet Miles. He wanted her to help him decide what to do about school.  
  
So he and Miles drove down to Denver in Miles’ family's Jeep, waiting by arrivals with a sign that read _Mom._ When she climbed off the plane, Waylon ran to embrace her. So often, he wished he’d stayed with her in the divorce. She never turned him wrong.    
  
After hugging for a moment, Waylon lead her back towards Miles. “Miles, this is my mom, Ara,” he introduced. “And this is Miles, my boyfriend.”  
  
They shook hands, smiling at each other, exchanging pleasantries. Waylon beamed knowing his mom accepted Miles.  
  
For her three hour layover, they sat at a Starbucks and laid out the different options they had for their schooling. The best bet for Waylon was undoubtedly Berkeley, but he had been accepted to some lesser schools around other journalism schools that Miles had also been accepted to.  
  
“So, it seems like it’s about staying together versus picking the best schools,” his mom said softly.    
  
“Waylon should go to Berkeley,” Miles insisted. “Obviously, the ideal would be to stay together, but Waylon is a gem. He would be completely fine without me.”  
  
“But what if I’m not?” Waylon admitted his doubt. “Miles was the one who gave me the confidence to be who I was. How am I going to keep that up without him?”  
  
“I’m not the one being you, _you_ are the one who chose to accept this all,” Miles pointed out. “You can do it, Waylon, you don’t need me.”  
  
Waylon looked at his mom. “It’s just an undergraduate degree, it doesn’t matter that much where I get it from anyway… does it?”  
  
Miles’ small phone dinged in his pocket and he pulled it out, suddenly grinning and shaking his head. “This is unreal.”  
  
Waylon furrowed his brow. “What, what’s going on?”  
  
Miles slid his phone over. An email reading _Congratulations on Your Acceptance to the USC Annenberg School for Communication & Journalism _was open. “Perfect timing, huh,” Miles smiled in disbelief, eyes just a tiny bit teary as he pushed his hair back off his forehead.  
  
Miles and Waylon embraced, this hard choice passed, and the rest of the trip was spent enjoying his mother’s presence.  
  
When she had to return to customs, Miles gave them a little bit of privacy. They embraced.  
  
“I am so proud of you,” his mom whispered into his ear. “You look fantastic. You grew up so fast.”  
  
“I’ll always be your son,” Waylon hugged her back.  
  
His mom moved back and rubbed his face. “I wish I could be there for everything you go through. You know you can call me any time.”   
  
“I know,” Waylon affirmed.  
  
She released him as an announcement played over the loudspeaker, calling for her flight to board. Miles approach again and wrapped an arm around Waylon’s waist.  
  
Waylon’s mom pulled Miles off of him to hug her son’s boyfriend. “You’re a good guy, Miles,” she said softly. When she released him, she smirked at him. “Take care of my son.”  
  
“Try and stop me,” Miles grinned back at her.  
  
They waved until the plane disappeared into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this little AU. If you made it all the way through, thanks for reading!


End file.
